High Note of Danger
by MysteryFan
Summary: I started this story years ago and decided to finish posting it, Part II of The Curse of the Romanov Rose. Should still read Part I, Lethal Measures, first.
1. Default Chapter

****

Chapter I

Frank Hardy stood with his brother Joe and girlfriend Callie Shaw, gazing at the front of the San Francisco Opera House. It was difficult to believe that this majestic, dignified edifice could be the cause of all the excitement of the last forty-eight hours, and that even now it was apparently housing international agents and jewel thieves. 

Just two days ago the Hardy brothers and Callie had come to San Francisco on a pleasant vacation jaunt. But their recreation had taken an unexpected turn when Frank had overheard a couple plotting to steal a rare Russian National treasure. Seen by the couple and not realizing the relevance of the conversation, Frank had been kidnapped to keep him out of the way until the theft could take place. Joe's and Callie's search for traces of Frank had brought them to the Opera House, where they uncovered not only the plot to steal the famous Russian treasure, the _Romanov Rose_, but where Joe had also run into an old acquaintance - the Gray Man. 

The Gray Man worked for a secret federal organization called the Network, designed to fight terrorism and intrigue against the United States. Unbeknownst to anyone, Frank and Joe had assisted him on a number of cases - beginning with the one that had resulted in the murder of Joe's girlfriend, Iola Morton. Now the Gray Man was somehow mixed up in the plot to steal the Russian Treasure and wanted Frank and Joe safely home in Bayport and out of his hair. The thieves wanted Frank out of the way and unable to identify them. And Frank, Joe and Callie wanted to make sure that nothing happened to the _Romanov Rose_, and that the perpetrators were brought to justice. All in all, Frank thought, so far it hadn't been a very restful vacation. 

"Hey," Callie touched him lightly on the arm. "You aren't dozing off on us again, are you? If we want to talk to Alissa, we'd better hurry." 

Alissa Grant, who worked as Assistant to the Manager at the Opera House, had befriended Joe and Callie and been an invaluable source of information to them. Now they were hoping that she could get them jobs backstage where they could keep an eye on the jewels and the thieves. 

Frank shook his head. "Just thinking. Let's go." 

They mounted the Opera House steps and entered, heading for Alissa's office. Seated at her desk despite the hour, Alissa showed no signs of going home. She looked up at them with a smile, raising her eyebrows slightly when she saw Frank. Frank looked at her and his brows rose as well at the sight of the stunning, willowy brunette. Whew, he thought. Trust Joe. 

"Hi, guys. Back so soon? The viewing's tomorrow." 

"Hi, Alissa. We know. We - what time do you get off here?" 

"Tonight? No telling, not with the Gala tomorrow. Why?" 

"We - " Joe stumbled to a halt again, at a loss. 

"We need to talk to you," Callie blurted. "It's pretty important." 

Alissa turned the pen in her fingers. "Listen, I'd love to, really. But with all we have to do for the Gala I don't see how-" 

Joe finally decided that bluntness was the best tactic. "Alissa, we have good reason to believe that someone is trying to steal the _Romanov Rose_. We need your help to stop them." 

"What?" That brought Alissa to her feet. "You aren't kidding me, are you?" 

"No, we're not. Please, Alissa. Take a few minutes to talk to us." 

Alissa reached for the phone. "We need to call the police." 

"We can't." 

"The Russian Embassy, then." 

"We can't trust anyone," Joe said desperately. 'If you'll just give us a minute-" he glanced around the office. "Not here." 

Alissa started to say something else when the door swung open. "Hey, Alissa, had your dinner break yet?" 

"Um. No." Alissa glanced at the Hardys and Callie. 

"Oh. Well, go now, will you? Cora's going to be here in a half hour to nail down the details of the reception and I'd like to take care of it as quickly as possible." The entrant, a sleekly dressed woman in her forties, nodded politely to the three teenagers and continued, "Also, it looks like Gail's not going to be able to come through for us, so be racking your brains for a quick replacement. Have a good dinner. I'll meet you back here in say - an hour?" 

Alissa nodded, then sighed as the door closed behind the woman. "Okay." she said after a second. "You've got an hour. But this had better be good." 

Alissa led them to nearby cafe and found a table in the back corner. "Okay," she folded her arms over her chest as she seated herself. "Go ahead." 

Frank reached across the table and offered his hand. "Well, first of all, let me introduce myself. I'm Frank Hardy, Joe's brother. And I take it you're Alissa Grant." 

For a moment Alissa looked flustered, then her face softened into an apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I've just got so much on my mind." She looked from Frank's lean, six foot one frame and dark brown hair to Joe's wavy blond thatch, an inch lower and topping a more muscular six feet, and smiled. "I guess I should have known you were brothers. Did you just get into town? This is the first time I've seen you." 

"Um -" Frank rubbed at the diminishing bump on his forehead, trying to figure out a way to begin. "Alissa, this is a really weird story, but if you can just hear us out..." he glanced at Joe who nodded, then took over, telling their tale as quickly and concisely as he could; starting with Frank's jog on the beach and the conversation he'd overheard there, including his subsequent kidnapping and all they had discovered in their search for him, and finishing with Joe's and Callie's visit to the apartment building to rescue Frank that afternoon. They knew that Gabrielle Townsend, the woman who had helped keep Frank prisoner, was a friend of Alissa's, and that Jerry Stryker, who was also involved, worked with her, so they watched her reaction carefully. They also knew that Gabrielle had offered to let Alissa go on stage tonight in her place to fulfill Alissa's lifelong dream to perform. If Alissa helped them it would be at great sacrifice to herself. 

When he was done, Alissa sat back in her chair and stared. "That's crazy," she said blankly. Then with increasing conviction, "That's impossible." She waved the waitress impatiently away and leaned across the table. "Gabby is - she's my friend! She would never be involved in something like this! At least- " she seemed swept with sudden doubt, then set her mouth firmly. "She could never hurt anyone. I'm sure of that. I don't know why you're telling me this, but - " 

"Alissa," Frank touched her hand. "I know how you feel. I like Gabby, too." 

Alissa glared at him defiantly. 

He sighed, then shrugged. "Okay, how about this." He pushed up his left sleeve to reveal a greenish bruise. "Injection sight." Then the right one, to show his bruised wrist. "That's from the handcuff." Alissa stared a moment, then covered her eyes with her hands. "Listen to me," he continued quietly. "Obviously Gabby had a lot of second thoughts. She said as much to me, and if it weren't true there wouldn't have been any argument to overhear. And she didn't know anything about what was planned for me until it was too late. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the reason they brought me to her place was to make sure she was implicated in case she got cold feet. They knew she'd never agree to it voluntarily. If it weren't for Gabby, I'd be a whole lot worse off than I am right now. She took good care of me." 

Frank's matter-of-fact tone seemed to have a calming effect on Alissa. She stared at her hands as though she'd never seen them before, then at Joe, Frank and Callie in turn. "We'd better order," she said after a minute. "I only have an hour." 

Joe let out a whoop. "Alissa, you believe us!" 

Alissa sighed. "No one could invent a story that strange. And, well...a few things are starting to add up." She pushed away from the table, her face bleak. "I'm just so ashamed. I knew I shouldn't have swapped with Gabby. I haven't felt right about it all day, but I convinced myself - I felt as though I'd waited so long - I thought that the end would justify the means. Of course I was just lying to myself." She looked up. "I'd like to try to make up for it. What would you like me to do?" 

Frank leaned forward. "We need you to get us backstage where we can keep an eye on the necklace. Stagehands or something." 

"Hm," Alissa reached for her water. "Won't work. Our stagehands are a close-knit group, and **_Faust_**'s a real crowd scene. That means that if you're in the wings as stagehands you'd better know what you're doing and be doing it. It also means, I'll remind you, that you'd report to Jerry." She sipped thoughtfully, then smiled. "However. That gives me an idea. In fact, I could use Callie right now, if you're game, and it would get me out of a tight spot, too." 

"What?" asked Callie eagerly. 

Alissa grinned. "How'd you like to appear in **_Faust_**?" 

*

"Ah, come on, Callie -it'll be fun. Adventure and culture combined. What could be better?" 

Callie glared at Joe, then looked doubtfully from the flying harness suspended far above the stage to Alissa. "You're sure this is safe?" 

"Of course." Alissa smiled reassuringly. "It's just one scene - there's nothing to it. Look, this is Suzy. She'll be the other angel." Alissa led them down the theater aisle to a young girl with long, wavy red hair. 

Callie blinked. "She can't be any older than fifteen." 

Alissa nodded. "That's right. But a very pure soprano. Also, the flying angels need to be light, so you're perfect. The others will appear on a kind of bleacher beneath you. You'll just be lowered down, but you could actually swing around if you wanted to, just like Tarzan." 

Callie shuddered. "No thanks." 

"Suzy. This is Callie. She'll be replacing Gail as your fellow angel." 

Callie lifted her chin and reached for Frank's hand. No fifteen year old was going to show her up in the bravery department. "Hi." 

"Hi!" Suzy said brightly. "Isn't this, like, just the most exciting thing? Aren't you just, like, y'know, the most excited ever?" 

Callie laughed. "Yes." And suddenly she meant it. 

"Okay, Suzy, take Callie to meet Eric and take a few practice runs in the harness. We're doing final dress in a couple of hours. If you have any questions, Callie, I won't be far away." 

Callie gave Frank a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you later." 

"Yeah. Be careful." 

Suzy tossed Joe a bright smile and led Callie away. 

"As for you two," Alissa eyed them consideringly. "I have an idea, but I have to check a couple of things first. I should have some kind of cover for you by tomorrow morning. The problem is-" she looked at Frank. "Jerry knows you. And while it's fairly dark backstage, we don't need to push our luck. By the way, Callie will probably be done late. I'll see that she gets safely home in a cab, or she can just crash at my place." 

"Alissa, we can't thank you - "

"Don't thank me. Hey, I'm a good American. I'd like to do my bit to promote continued relations between the U.S. and Russia." 

Joe grinned. "Alissa, you're the best."

Alissa smiled faintly. "Talk to me again after you've seen your cover. Now I'd better get back to work." 

Joe watched her walk away, then turned to Frank. "So. Now what?" 

"Well," Frank looked thoughtful. "I thought I'd find Jerry and shadow him. Since it's getting close to show time, he might try to make contact and take me to his leader." 

"Great. I'll go with you." Frank looked at him in surprise. "I thought you'd want to stay with Alissa. And you could keep an eye on Callie for me." 

"Yeah, she'd love that. Believe me, she can take care of herself. And they're going to be busy with this opera thing. Pretty dull." 

Frank considered a moment. "Okay. Maybe that's better. I can tail Jerry, and you can stick with Gabby. She'd see me coming a mile away." 

Joe shifted. "Naw. Gabby's not worth tailing. They barely trusted her with you. They'd never trust her to make contact with the big guy. I'll go with you." 

Frank perched on the arm of one of the aisle seats and eyed him suspiciously. "Okay," he ventured slowly. "How about this. I tail Jerry. You check out the security measures for the necklace." 

"Hm." Joe cleared his throat. "Actually, that security stuff is more your thing. Why don't you do that, and I'll tail Jerry? Or, better still, you can check out the security tomorrow, and tonight we can both tail Jerry." He gave Frank his most brilliant smile. 

Frank narrowed his eyes at him. "Uh-huh. Joe, what exactly is this all about?" 

Joe reddened and cleared his throat again. "I'm just trying to work out the best plan. You know. The most logical." Frank continued to stare at him. Joe's color deepened. "Okay, okay. Look, I don't want to be a total dweeb about this or anything..." 

"Go on," Frank prompted as he showed signs of faltering.

"It's just - " Joe took a deep breath and finished in a rush. "It's just that I just spent the better part of two days looking for you, and now that I know where you are, well, I'd kind of like to keep knowing for a little while. What I mean is, for the time being, I think we should stick together." 

"Oh." They exchanged sheepish glances. Frank cleared his throat. "Okay, maybe you're right. Let's go find Jerry. How much do you want to bet we end up hanging around here all evening?"


	2. Chapter 2

****

Chapter II

But Frank's fears were unfounded. It was still early evening and light outside when Jerry handed his headset to one of the assistant stage managers and headed for the stage door. Joe, who was pretending to adjust Callie's harness, signaled Frank, who waited deep in the shadows of a scrim. As the stage door opened, Joe moved casually over to the scrim hiding Frank and pretended to get ready to adjust the fly ropes. Great, he thought, as Jerry disappeared into the parking lot. If he takes his car this will be the shortest tail in history. I doubt there's another friendly catering truck hanging around. 

He casually strolled over to the stage doorway and leaned against it, looking into the parking lot as if he were getting some air. 

"Hi!" said a bright voice somewhere near his chin. "Are you, like, having a smoke? Can I have one?" Joe looked down to see Suzy smiling sweetly up at him. He groaned inwardly.

"I don't smoke," he said abruptly, then, as it occurred to him, "And neither should you! You're a singer! And you're only fifteen!"

Suzy stuck her lower lip out. "Fifteen's old enough for a lot of things." She widened her eyes meaningfully, but it was wasted on Joe who was keeping an eye on Jerry's progress through the parking lot and racking his brains for a way to get rid of her.

"Hey, Joe," Frank popped his head out from behind the scrim. "Jerry wants us to pick up some more of that..." he groped for inspiration, "Stuff…for him." Joe raised his eyebrows at him and he shrugged. "You ready? He wants it five minutes ago."

"Yeah! We'd better hurry! See you, Suzy!" Joe slipped outside the door, dodging Suzy's grasp and signaling Frank to follow. Frank emerged into the sunlight just as Jerry turned in his direction. He dropped abruptly to his knees, crouching behind a station wagon. He looked up at Joe, who was gesturing him to stay down while pretending to unlock a car. 

"Hey! Lose a contact lens or somethin'?" 

Frank glanced up to see that Suzy had followed them outside. He stared at her in horror. "I - thought this tire looked soft." He glanced wildly at Joe, who nodded that it was all right for him to rise. Frank stood up slowly, smiling at her and backing away. "I guess it's all right! See you, Suzy!" He caught up with Joe, who was frowning. 

"I don't know. I don't _think_ he saw us, but we'd better take it easy. At least we're in luck. For a minute it looked like he was going to take the car."

Sure enough, Jerry had started down the street at a rapid pace.

"Great," grumbled Frank. "Not a whole lot of cover. Hang back a little."

They let Jerry get a decent lead with a few knots of people between them.

"Lucky thing we're tall," muttered Joe. "Cause we're going to lose him."

"Not if I can help it," answered Frank grimly. 

One of the bright cable cars San Francisco was famous for trundled past them and pulled to a stop at the end of the block. 

"He's getting on!" Joe broke into a jog. "C'mon!" He and Frank raced the length of the block as the cable car started to move. It was moving downhill, picking up speed, when Joe caught the rear rail and swung on. A second later, Frank pulled himself on beside him. The brakeman gave them an amused grin.

"Better stay on the outside." Frank murmured. Joe was nothing loathe. The Bay disappeared and reappeared as they flew up and down the hills, the harbor lights winking on below them. He wondered wistfully if they'd ever get a chance to really enjoy the city. 

The car stopped at the bottom of the hill. Joe looked up to see that they were almost at Fisherman's Wharf. They let Jerry get off, then paid the conductor and lingered near the back of the cable car to see where he'd go. The brakeman and the conductor got out and started the colorful process of turning the car around. They pretended to watch as Jerry made his way down the Wharf. 

Here the crowds were thicker, and for a moment they were afraid they'd lost him. Then Joe spotted him at the Pier 41 ticket booth. He let out a groan.

"Don't tell me he's going to Alcatraz! We could be following him sightseeing!"

"In the middle of the final dress for the Gala? I doubt it." Frank's eyes followed Jerry. "You'd better get us two tickets. I'll stand behind this post and pretend to feed the gulls."

Joe walked over to the ticket booth. The line was much shorter than the morning they'd gone. Was it only two days ago? It seemed like a lifetime. He hung back to let a good length of line build up between Jerry and themselves, then sauntered over. 

Frank materialized beside him. "Not a bad place to make a contact, actually," he said softly. 

Joe nodded dubiously. 

A sharp wind was blowing off the Bay, and they hadn't really dressed for it. What's more, Joe had found Alcatraz creepier than he liked to admit.

"Think he spotted us?" he asked, to keep his mind off where they were going.

"I don't know," Frank admitted. "Probably not. He doesn't have any reason to believe he's being followed."

"Huh." They remained silent the rest of the ride. Jerry stayed in the bow of the boat, gazing out toward the island. When the ship docked, he was the first one off. A crowd of passengers pushed their way between him and the Hardys, surging onto the dock. This time, even their height didn't help. By the time they managed to make their way to the dock, Jerry was nowhere in sight. 

Joe smacked his fist into his palm. "Gone!" he said in disgust. "We might have known he wasn't going to stick with the tour group. Now what?"

"I guess we split up," Frank answered slowly. "It is an island, and this is the last boat of the day, so he can't go far. The tour's about forty-five minutes. Let's synchronize our watches and meet back here in about thirty." 

Joe nodded, staring at the building with distaste. "Why don't you take this end? I'll start at the far end." 

Joe watched his brother disappear into the tour group, then he started up the steep labyrinth of stairs. He took them briskly: partly to stay warm, partly to get this thing over with. He wasn't that worried about being spotted since he didn't think that Jerry knew who he was, and because, as Frank had pointed out, he couldn't really go anywhere anyway.

He walked around the perimeter of the prison, easily scaling rocks, fighting the wind. The roar of the violent surf against the rocks drown out the sound of the tourists voices. He remembered the stories of the convicts who were drown or shot trying to escape and he shivered. He felt as though he was completely alone in this desolate spot, accompanied only by the restless spirits of the hundreds of prisoners who had been incarcerated there. 

He ducked inside and walked slowly down a corridor between the bi-level cell blocks. The echo of his footsteps followed him eerily. No sign of Jerry. No sign of anyone. 

He found himself on the row the rangers had referred to as Broadway, connecting Cell Blocks C and D. The tour group must have already passed through. 

He thought he heard something - the scuff of a shoe on the floor - and he froze, listening. A shiver ran down his spine. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone. It wasn't that he believed in ghosts...not exactly. It's just that the atmosphere seemed to vibrate with the memory of death and violence. He eased his way into Cell Block D.

The sense of another presence deepened, pressing on his diaphragm like an oversized hand, tightening his breathing. There's nobody there, he assured himself. Nobody. 

He thought he caught a flicker of movement ahead and moved after it. A chill of perspiration formed at his hairline. 

Okay, so there's somebody there. But it's a real somebody. Somebody alive.

He moved down Cell Block D, his heart hammering suffocatingly against his ribs. He told himself that he was being silly, but it didn't help. At the end of the cell block he caught another glimmer of movement. He increased his pace, keeping his footsteps stealthy and silent. He crept to the end of the cell block. There was no one to be seen. 

He came to a halt, puzzled. Then he saw that the double doors of one of the old isolation chambers were slightly ajar. He stared at them in dismay.

The thought of entering made his flesh crawl. Maybe he ought to go back for Frank. He glanced at his watch. He was just about due. Still, if Jerry and Cobra were rendezvousing now, by the time he got back with Frank it could be too late. He crept to the door and listened closely. Silence. He set his teeth. Okay, then. In it was. 

He opened the door with excruciating care, and, taking a breath, plunged into the lightless interior. The cell was chilly and damp. Ahead of him was another cell door. In the pencil of light from the door behind him, he could make out the door handles, but little else. He listened. Nothing. Maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe there _was_ no one there. One quick peek, and then off to meet Frank. 

He eased the door open and looked inside. The darkness was profound, the dampness settled on his skin like a cold, thin rain. Without knowing it, his teeth were chattering. He took one step into the second chamber. This time the sound of the footfall was distinct, and behind him. He started to turn, but a strong shove sent him slamming into the steel floor with a force that made him see stars. He lay still a moment, dazed and winded, and heard the horrible sound of the door slamming closed behind him. He tried to push himself up, but he lolled feebly on the floor. After a moment he heard, with mounting terror, the outer door slam as well, with the resounding crash of steel on steel.

Joe's hands clamped over his ears to blot out the sound. He tried again to push himself up. This time, with the help of the wall, he made it to sitting position. He sat still for a moment, trying to steady his swimming head, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the luminous dial of his watch and his breath caught in his throat. The boat! He was going to miss the boat! The last boat of the day! That would mean spending the night alone on Alcatraz Island!

He scrabbled along the floor until he found the door and threw himself against it with all his might. It was like charging a locomotive. He slumped hopelessly against it.

Easy, he told himself. Frank won't leave without you. He won't leave you here alone. He'll come looking, and he'll find you. He felt the weight of the cold steel against his cheek and an awful thought occurred to him. Could Frank even hear him through all this steel? Maybe he'd be stuck here forever!

In rising panic, he threw himself at the door with renewed force. For a frenzied moment, the only sounds were his labored grunts of effort and the sound of flesh on steel, then as suddenly as he'd started, he froze. 

Because there had been another sound. A low, eerie moan. Joe felt his hair rise on his scalp. 

Up until that moment, he had been sure that there could be nothing worse than being trapped in that isolation cell alone. Now he knew that there was something much, much worse. 

Because he was not alone. Someone, or some_thing_, was in there with him!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III  
  
Joe held his breath, pressing his back against the door. The sound came again, louder than before. He tried to think of something he could use as a weapon, but except for his fists he couldn't come up with anything.  
  
Well, he thought grimly, the best defense is a good offense. He rose slowly, unlocking his knees. As silently as he could manage, he began easing himself along the wall, keeping his shoulders flat against it. Whatever it was, he was going to meet it on his feet.  
  
The cell was small, and he soon found himself in the far corner. He began edging along the back wall, feeling his way. Suddenly, out of the darkness, something claw-like clutched at his ankle!  
  
Joe tumbled to the floor with a hoarse cry that was answered by an echoing cry. He yanked his ankle frantically out of the cold grip, kicking out and crawling backward into the corner. He raised his fists to defend himself, but something was scratching at the back of his mind. The cell was filled with heavy breathing that wasn't just his own, and that cry had sounded like...  
  
"Frank?" he whispered cautiously. There was a rustle from the opposite corner.  
  
"Joe. It's you."  
  
Joe began to laugh out of sheer relief. "I should have known. Who else would be sharing these deluxe accommodations with me? Say - " he remembered the moan. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Frank's voice sounded disgusted. "Except for where you kicked me and the inevitable bump on my skull. I am getting so tired of getting hit on the head."  
  
"Sorry about the kick. I thought - "  
  
"No need to explain. You don't even want to know what I thought."  
  
"Anyway, I'm glad you're here. Well, not exactly glad, but -"  
  
"Yeah. I know. Boy, I feel like a first class chump."  
  
Joe supposed that he did, too, but he was so giddy with relief and so glad to have Frank for company that nothing could seem too bad. "I don't suppose you have a light?" he joked.  
  
"Actually, if it wasn't broken in the fall, I think I've got my pencil flashlight. And my Swiss army knife. You?"  
  
His knife. How could he have forgotten it? "Yeah, I've got it. What's the plan?"  
  
"I don't have one yet," Frank admitted. "I'm just taking inventory. Have you tried the door?"  
  
"Yeah. No go."  
  
"Hm. Let's try it together. Of course, if these are on the electronic switch and he's activated it, we're pretty much stuck until morning. But if he's just jammed it...let's give it a try."  
  
"What time is the first tour boat in the morning?"  
  
"Gets over here about ten o'clock. Of course, the government boat comes about an hour before that with the employees."  
  
Joe was silent a moment. "Then let's hope he hasn't activated the electronic switch." He heard Frank fumbling in the dark, then was startled by a thin ray of light that grew larger as Frank adjusted it.  
  
"Okay," said Frank, flashing it around the cell. "It works, but I don't know how strong the batteries are, so we'll use it judiciously." He played it over the door. "Hmph. Doesn't look like it's quite flush, so chances are it's just jammed. Let's try a little muscle."  
  
Straining together, Frank and Joe fared no better than Joe had alone. Still, as they paused to catch their breath, Frank sounded pleased. "Definitely a little give, which means we have a chance at breaking out by ourselves. Hold the flashlight. I'm going to pull out my knife."  
  
Frank ran his finger down the seam in the door and pulled out his Swiss army knife. He selected the longest, thinnest blade, and inserted it carefully in the crack between the doors. Sliding it slowly upward, he came to a sudden stop about one third of the way up.  
  
"Feels like he sealed it or tied it or something. The blade just barely reaches between the doors, but I can pick at it. Won't be fast, though. Why don't you try it from the top. Careful of your blade. Slow and easy."  
  
Joe obediently stationed himself over Frank, using the flashlight to find the door seam and follow it from above his head downward. About a foot above where he estimated the door handles to be, he felt resistance. He sawed at it delicately with his blade.  
  
"This is going to take forever," he groaned.  
  
"It's not like we have a ride off this rock anyway. Besides, I figure we can combine sawing with pushing. As we weaken whatever it is, we may be able to push through. Better lose the light a while. We may need it later."  
  
Joe looked from the flashlight to his brother, patiently working his knife. "Frank?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Know how I tease you about being kind of over cautious sometimes?"  
  
Frank made a face. "Oh, yeah."  
  
"Well. Sometimes, I'm kind of glad you are."  
  
Frank glanced up at him quickly, and Joe caught the flash of his teeth in the dim flashlight beam. "I guess it takes a night in the Big House for some guys appreciate what they've got on the outside. Kill the light, now."  
  
Joe turned off the flashlight and dropped it in his shirt pocket. They worked for a long time in silence, stopping occasionally to rub some circulation back into their freezing hands. The steel floor was like ice, and they shivered with the cold.  
  
"I'm starving," said Joe after a time.  
  
"What else is new."  
  
"At this rate, we'll be lucky to be free before the government boat gets here."  
  
Joe had made some progress, and he picked for a moment at a particularly dense mass before thinking out loud. "Unless...they plan to come back for us. Just wanted to keep us contained until the coast was clear to come back and - "  
  
Frank paused in his work. "Pleasant thought," he said ruefully. "Let's try shouldering again. If nothing else, the exercise might warm us up."  
  
They pushed and pried with a will, but with little result. The thought of their captors coming back to heave them into the icy waters around the island to their death gave them new energy despite the cold, and they worked away furiously. They tried another bought of pushing, and while the doors shifted tantalizingly, they still didn't give way.  
  
Frank sagged against them dispiritedly. "Let's take a break." He glanced at his watch. "Maybe we should be trying to take turns sleeping."  
  
Joe looked at the time and was amazed to see how much of the night had flown. He rubbed his arms with his hands, his teeth chattering. "No way am I going to even try to sleep in this place. Let's go at it again."  
  
They worked away in silence. Joe could definitely feel some progress now, and he tried to resist the urge to hack away and risk damaging his blade. The silence, the darkness, and the extreme cold all seemed to crowd in on him as he worked.  
  
"Frank?" he said after a while, to break the silence.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"If I tell you something, do you promise not to laugh?"  
  
"Cross my heart."  
  
"Well. I almost felt like...When I was alone, it seemed like - well. Like this place was almost haunted or something." He heard Frank pause in his work, shift positions.  
  
"Actually," Frank's tone was thoughtful. "That's not so impossible, Joe. I mean, paranormal scientists definitely agree that hauntings are most likely to occur in places with a history of extreme violence, anguish and human suffering. When you think of all the men who died here - beaten to death, stabbed, executed, shot by guards...or if you go back even further in its history, to its days as a Civil War prison - "  
  
"Frank."  
  
Frank paused, interrupted just as he'd been warming to his subject.  
  
"This isn't making me feel better."  
  
"Oh. Right. Sorry. Maybe you'd better turn on the light for a while."  
  
They worked away again in silence, until Joe heard Frank slow and stop.  
  
"What?" he asked, after a moment.  
  
"I was just thinking."  
  
Frank didn't elaborate, so Joe prodded again, "What?"  
  
"I was just thinking that we left Callie all alone with Alissa, who we don't know for sure is really on our side. What if they lured us out here to get us out of the way, and now they've got Callie?" Frank's voice faltered at the end and Joe stopped sawing to stretch his fingers.  
  
"Now who's scaring himself? We do know that Alissa's innocent. Nobody's that good an actress. And I'd bet on Callie to outwit these bozos any day. Probably she's asleep right now in a nice warm bed. Here, why don't you try this end for a while. Give you a chance to stretch. Then we'll give it another heave-ho."  
  
They worked for a while longer, then braced themselves for another try. They were drained with the cold and meticulous labor to the point of exhaustion, but they were also desperate.  
  
This time, after a prolonged shove, they were rewarded with a tearing sound.  
  
"Good," Frank panted. "Again." They grit their teeth and pushed until their muscles bulged, and this time, with a groaning, ripping sound, the doors parted suddenly, sending them tumbling to the floor in a heap. They stayed there a moment, pounding each other on the back with shouts of triumph.  
  
Joe reached out to retrieve the flashlight, which had rolled out of his hand, and they climbed painfully to their feet. And stopped dead.  
  
Joe didn't have to see his brother to know that he had the same expression on his face that he felt on his own. In their eagerness to get out of the cell, they had forgotten one very important thing.  
  
They had forgotten the second set of double doors. 


	4. Chapter 4

****

Chapter IV

With a howl of rage and frustration, Joe threw himself at the doors. They were as solid as the first set had been, and he bounced off painfully to land on the floor. The flashlight rolled away, flickering dimly. 

He lay for a moment, breathless with pain and despair. He felt Frank's hands on his shoulders, fumbling to help him sit up.

"Joe? Joe, you okay?"

"Yeah," said Joe bitterly.

"Good. Broken bones would definitely not be a help now. Catch your breath a minute."

Frank scrambled for the dimming flashlight, shining its waning light on the doors they'd just parted. "Looks like gaffers tape," he said after a minute. "Figures." He turned off the light.

"Did I break it?" 

Frank's shrug was audible. "Doesn't matter. I think the batteries were going anyway. Let's try this door. Maybe he got in a hurry to catch the boat and wasn't as thorough."

This door did seem to be less well sealed; probably because it had to have been done in plain sight of any wandering tourists or rangers, but by this time the boys were so worn out and cold that they had to rest more frequently. 

"I'd give a lot for a pair of gloves right now," chattered Frank. 

Then Joe heard him draw his breath sharply through his teeth. Joe paused. "Cut yourself?"

"No," said Frank bleakly. "My blade broke."

There was a short, dull silence. Joe cleared his throat. "Okay. Jog in place to stay warm. We'll take turns with mine."

They alternated sawing with their remaining blade, then put their backs into a good, long shove. The doors parted about three inches, still bound with sticky strings of gaffers tape.

"That's more like it," Joe muttered, forcing his hand through the opening and tearing at the tape. He could hear Frank doing the same lower down. They pulled the doors far enough apart to slip through, and emerged into the relative comfort of the cell block.

Frank stared at the door, running one hand down the tape. 

"Think we should take it off?" Joe asked.

Frank frowned. "I think it's better if somebody else finds it. In case we need corroboration. Which way?"

Joe looked to his right, at a large door. To his left was a long corridor of cells. "What's the door?"

Frank tried to see the layout in his mind. "The yard, I think." 

Joe remembered the vast, silent yard, empty of any cover, and shook his head. "No way. Let's see what we can find that way."

"Okay." Frank wrapped his arms around himself. "I feel like a human popsicle."

"Me too. Let's run." They tore down the corridor neck in neck, as quickly as their weary legs could carry them, the sounds of their feet echoing eerily off the stone walls. They paused at the main entrance to catch their breath. "Where to?"

Frank kneaded his hands in a feeble attempt to warm them. "I was just thinking. How about one of the guard towers? That way, if our friends _are_ coming back for us, we'll be able to keep a lookout for them. And there are employees here, during the day. Who knows, maybe we can find some vending machines with coffee or candy bars or something."

At the mention of food Joe sighed deeply and followed his brother, who was cautiously trying the door. They slipped outside, into a cold wind that seemed to blow from all directions.

"Wonderful," muttered Frank. "Let's make sure that we prop the door in case that's our only shelter." He glanced at his watch. Three-thirty AM. There was a moon, but it was obscured now and then by the clouds, so they had to pick their way carefully in the uncertain light. By the time they had reached the guardhouse overlooking San Francisco Bay, Joe was sure that this had been the longest night of his life. He tugged at the door. It was locked.

"Well, this is more like it. A nice, pickable lock." He reached for Frank's lockpicks, which were still in his pocket, and in a minute had the door open. He held it for Frank. "After you."

Frank entered and Joe locked the door firmly behind them. "Now what?"

Frank sank into a chair with a sigh of relief. "We have a couple of options, the way I see it." He yawned mightily. "First, we could try and find some way to signal the Coast Guard."

"Sounds good."

"Well, yeah, except they'll haul us in for trespassing on government property. Even if they believe us, you can imagine how long they'll keep us for questioning. Probably in jail."

"Jail's okay. Jail's warm. They feed you."

"They also don't let you out when you ask. Which means that, unless we're convincing, our friends could waltz off with the _Romanov Rose_. Callie and Alissa might be able to stop them by themselves, but I'd rather not take the chance."

Joe grunted assent, then brightened. "I know! Dad and Mom should be home by now! We can call Dad to vouch for us! That should cut down our time with the Coast Guard!" As quickly as it had brightened, his face fell. "Oh, wow. Imagine explaining all this to Dad."

Frank winced in agreement. "He wouldn't be too thrilled with our not going to the authorities. Of course, he might be able to get us the clout we need to get real help."

Joe groaned. "I can just hear him now - especially when we get to the part where I explain how I knew you were kidnapped for two whole days and never even tried to contact him. Man, I'll be grounded for the rest of my life." They sat in glum silence. 

"What's the other option?"

"Wait and leave with the tour group. It's a pretty hefty wait, and it's a little more complicated, because we'll have to duck the employees when they get here, but we could take turns sleeping until then." Frank yawned again, glancing at his watch. "We could wrack up about - oh - two and a half hours each."

"Sounds good to me." Joe mirrored his yawn. "You want first watch, or want me to take it?" 

In the end, Frank took the first watch while Joe slept. Despite the less-than-prime accommodations, Joe managed to fall at once into a deep, exhausted sleep. Frank looked on longingly. He was having trouble staying awake himself. They had agreed to two hours sleep each, with one hour to secret themselves before the government boat arrived, and Frank was relieved when he could stop nodding over his watch and rouse Joe. 

Joe rose, still half asleep, and propped himself at the window facing San Francisco. He glanced from Frank, already sound asleep, to the lightening sky. Fog hugged the water's surface, thinning out at the height of his tower window. Joe was fighting to keep his eyes open. 

He tried naming states and their capitals to stay alert, but he didn't get very far. Next he tried doing algebra in his head but that bored him so much that he almost fell asleep. So he decided to watch the lights on the Bay and guess what kind of boats they belonged to and where they were going. 

It was quite light by this time, and he glanced at his watch. Nearly seven. A large sloop pulled away from the marina. For a moment it looked as though it were heading right for Alcatraz, then it veered toward the mouth of the Bay and open sea. He pushed his face against the window for a better look. In a break in the fog, he saw what looked like a small skiff heading toward the island. Not the best waters for a craft like that, he thought idly. Too fragile to go far in these choppy waters. It disappeared under the fog and it occurred to him that it seemed, from this angle, to be running without any lights. Curious, his eyes scoured the fog, searching for it. He caught sight of it again a while later, coming closer, it seemed. Joe felt a cold finger run down his spine. That skiff was definitely heading this way. He nudged Frank with his foot.

"Hey. Frank." 

Frank groaned and turned onto his side without opening his eyes. "C'mon, Joe," he mumbled. "It couldn't be two hours. I just closed my eyes."

"Sorry, it's not. But we've got company." 

That brought Frank awake at once and he stumbled to the window to join Joe. Sure enough, the skiff pulled alongside the pier. Frank and Joe exchanged glances of alarm. 

"Keep low," Frank murmured. "I don't think he can see us up here, but let's not take any chances." 

Joe nodded, bending low, but keeping his eyes on the window. "I don't suppose it's possible it's the janitor come ahead to turn on the lights," he offered jokingly.

Frank shook his head. "Anything's possible, but somehow I don't think so."

A figure docked the skiff and climbed out. He carried what looked like a heavy canvas bag slung over his shoulder. 

"Guess there's nothing like being prepared," Joe said out of the side of his mouth.

Frank was silent. Even at this distance, there was something eerily familiar about the indiscriminate figure. And even at this distance, he knew it wasn't Jerry Stryker. 

"Cobra," he breathed.


	5. Chapter 5

I started posted this story years ago as a two-parter, _The Curse of the Romanov Rose_. Something made me think of it today, and I looked to see if I still had it. I do, and I had finished it, and it still made me smile, so I decided to post the rest. Read Part I, Lethal Measures, first, or it doesn;t make much sense.

**Chapter V**

"Maybe," Joe agreed. "I'm almost willing to swear it's the guy that mugged you. Think he's come back for us?"

"Well, if he's here for the tour, he's a little early. He must be heading for Cell Block D."

"Yeah, and we thoughtfully left the door propped for him. Well, this time, _I've_ got a plan." Frank raised his brows at him. "Well, heck, Frank, it's like an invitation. We give him some time to make it to Cell Block D, then we run like crazy, jump in his boat, and let _him_ take the tour boat back to San Francisco."

Frank hesitated. "It may be our only chance to get a look at him."

Joe gave a snort of disgust. "Look, Frank, Gabby and Jerry may be a couple of clumsy amateurs, but this guy is anything but. He's slick. He's also probably armed, and we are currently in no condition to take anybody on."

Frank looked at Joe's drawn, shadowed face and bloodshot eyes and realized that he was probably right. He rubbed at his own eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You've got a point. Do I look as bad as you?"

"Worse. I, of course, have my natural beauty, which shines through in even the worst circumstances. He must be inside by now. Let's count thirty, then start down."

The trip down the stairs to the pier was one of the tensest Frank could remember. The fog would thicken, making them stumble and grope on the stairs, then dissolve just as suddenly, threatening them with disclosure, while the steps twisted and turned endlessly downward. It was like a nightmare: trapped on an island, clawing through the fog, with a silent murderer in pursuit. He kept his focus firmly on his feet and started violently when Joe reached out a hand to stop his progress.

The sound of the surf was louder now, punctuated with the sounds of the gulls and an occasional foghorn.

"We're almost at the pier." Joe whispered. "Stick with me."

He led them down to the end of the pier where a small skiff bounced against the dock.

"I love a boat you don't need a key to start." Joe breathed. "I'll drive and you cast off. Be ready to jump aboard. I'm hoping for a speedy takeoff." Joe cranked the motor. It roared, then sputtered to a stop. He cranked again. This time it almost turned over, then died.

Frank was standing ready to cast off, certain that at any moment the noise would alert Cobra and bring him to the pier to finish them off. Joe tugged at the starter cord again and it cranked loudly before sputtering out.

"Come _on_, Joe!" cried Frank, in an agony of anxiety.

"I'm trying!" Joe hissed back, giving the cord a tremendous yank. The small engine groaned, then sputtered to life. "All _right!_ Quick, hop in!" Frank didn't need any coaxing. He quickly cast off and jumped in, causing the small craft to rock wildly. Joe made an abrupt turn away from the island that sent Frank tumbling to the bottom of the skiff. By the time he had dragged himself onto one of the seats, Joe had them firmly pointed toward the marina.

The water was rough, and they bounced high in the air with every wave. Frank decided it was a good idea to hang on with both hands. The marina disappeared and reappeared in the fog, and despite the wild motion of the boat, Frank found that the foggy air and the sounds of the sea sent his mind drifting. He listened drowsily to the moan of the foghorns calling to one another. He liked the sound. Hm. That last one sounded really close. Sound carried over water, of course, but - he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and looked up. And up.

An enormous yacht was bearing down on them. They were directly in its path.

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

_Since I wrote this about ten years ago, some of the technology may seem a little dated - like Walkmans instead of Ipods and no cellphones. I decided to leave it in the Hardy Boys Casefiles era and not try to bring it into the present._

**Chapter VI**

"Joe!" Frank hollered. "Hard starboard!" Joe swung the tiller, but the yacht was fast. There didn't seem to be any way to avoid a collision.

"He can't see us!" Joe yelled back. "No running lights! Get ready! We may have to jump!"

Frank stared, mesmerized, as the yacht bore relentlessly down on them. Just as it seemed they would have to abandon ship and hope for the best, the skiff took on a burst of speed and passed within feet of the yacht's massive side. It seemed to Frank as though he could reach out and touch the portholes as they passed. Just as he was drawing a breath of relief, he heard Joe calling to him frantically.

"Frank! The wake! I think - " Sure enough, the wake of the yacht swelled under the tiny craft, lifting it high on the port side. Joe tried to turn the skiff, to take the worst of it at a right angle, but it happened too fast. The water pushed unrelentingly at their toy boat, flipping it over and driving it under.

Frank felt for a moment the cold shock of the water, then he was floating, wafting, down, down...it seemed relaxing...a relief, after the horrors of the evening. His limbs drifted weightlessly around him. Water pushed into his nose and throat, and the sudden choking checked the lassitude that had threatened to overwhelm him. _**Kick!**_ he ordered himself fiercely. Kick, or you'll drown! He fought his way above the waves, coughing and blowing water. Another wave submerged him for a moment, but now he was alert and he fought back, treading water.

"Joe?" he called, his eyes fighting through the fog. "Joe!" Come on, Joe, answer me! He turned around and around, searching for a sign of his brother. "**Joe!**" He thought he heard a faint call in response, and turned in that direction. Something seemed to move in the fog ahead and he started toward it, forcing his tired, half-frozen body to function. As he got closer, he saw that it was Joe, hanging on to the end of a pier and waving to him. "Wow," he gasped. "Am I glad to see you."

"Same here. I was afraid to swim away from the pier for fear of losing it in the fog, but in another second I would have had to. Let's get out of this bathtub."

They dragged themselves onto the pier and lay there, shivering.

"A-a-nd I th-thought I was c-c-cold b-before!" Joe managed. Frank nodded numbly. "W-we'd better m-move, b-b-before we f-f-freeze." They struggled to their feet, leaning on each other for support and, trailing water, started down the pier.

"I g-guess a c-c-cab is out of the q-question." Frank chattered. Joe stopped so suddenly that Frank bumped into him. "W-what?" Joe pushed his drenched hair off his face and grinned through his chattering teeth. He gave a weak whoop and started forward at a shambling run. Frank stared after him, wondering if the dunking had effected his mind. There didn't seem to be any choice but to follow.

He found Joe at a table where a pretty blonde girl was laying out tee shirts. Figures, he thought. Only Joe Hardy could think about picking up girls after a harrowing night in the Alcatraz isolation hole and a dunking in the San Francisco Bay.

As he approached them the blonde girl turned to stare at him. Okay, he thought irritably. I must look pretty bad, but no worse than Joe.

"It's you!" she said in amazement. Frank looked at Joe questioningly.

"Dru, meet my brother, Frank Hardy."

"Your brother!" Now it was Joe's turn to be stared at. "You mean to tell me that you didn't know your own brother is a diabetic?"

"A what?" Frank joined her in staring at Joe, running a hand through his wet, dark hair. "Oh. Wait - I remember." He looked at Dru. "I think I owe you a vote of thanks."

She took in their drenched appearance for the first time. "But you guys are soaked! What happened?"

"We took a little early morning swim. In the Bay," Joe explained ruefully. "I know you're probably not open yet, but I was wondering if we could buy some dry clothes?"

Dru glanced at a nearby table. "Bernie! Watch my stuff for me?" The guy at the next table signaled assent. "Follow me."

She led them to a nearby boutique, sporting the same name as the one posted on her table, and unlocked the door.

"Washroom's in the back. Here - " she selected two terry cloth beach towels. "Use those to dry off. I'll hand you in some clothes. I'm afraid there's only room in there for one of you at a time...no, wait - one of you can use the dressing booth. Better hurry, or you'll both have pneumonia."

Only a short time later, Frank and Joe reappeared - Frank in black sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt with a flock of gulls on it that said _San Francisco_, and Joe in grey sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt that said _I stayed at the Rock_.

"Very funny." said Joe, looking down at his sweatshirt. "How did you know?"

Dru smiled angelically. "I know nothing, except that you look as though you should. I'm sorry I don't have any dry footwear for you, but we don't sell sneakers. Here, give me yours. I'll crank up the spaceheater and see if we can't get them - and you - a little drier." Frank and Joe pulled chairs in front of the spaceheater and gave mutual sighs of bliss.

"I started some coffee in the break room. It should be ready soon." Dru looked from one to the other. "So. What was all that phony stuff about looking for the owner of a bracelet?"

Joe flushed. "It wasn't phony. I just didn't mention that I _knew_ the owner of the bracelet."

"No, you didn't mention a whole lot of stuff." She looked at Frank. "If you aren't diabetic, what were those guys shooting into you?"

Frank grimaced at the memory. "Wish I knew."

"And why are you taking a dip in the Bay? Especially at this hour of the morning? Not that it's a good idea at any hour."

"We were escaping from Alcatraz." Joe and Frank exchanged sudden grins as they realized how funny that sounded. "Really."

"Uh-huh." Dru watched them shrewdly with her great grey eyes. "Are you guys cops or spies or what?" A whistle from the kettle saved them from answering. Dru jumped up to get it and returned a short time later with two mugs of coffee.

"Hope you don't mind instant."

"You've got to be kidding," Frank accepted his gratefully. "Look, Dru, I know you have a lot of questions, and they deserve answers, but right now..."

Dru rolled her eyes. "You can't, but you'll fill me in later. Where have I heard that before? Oh, yes, I know. From your brother. You guys rehearse that line?" she held up a hand as they opened their mouths to respond. "Never mind. I can wait. It would almost spoil it to know everything before I see how you turn up next. The phone's over there, if you want to call a cab."

"Here. Let me pay you for the things." Frank fumbled distastefully through his wet pockets for his emergency credit card and handed it to her. She took the credit card and gave them each a plastic shopping bag for their wet clothes.

Joe called a cab, reluctantly leaving the cozy circumference of the spaceheater for a second. "He should be here in ten. Dru, we can't thank you enough-"

"Forget it." Dru pulled a baseball cap over Joe's hair, and put a flat golf cap on Frank. "On the house. It'll keep the wind off your wet hair. As for thanks - you can make it up to me with dinner. _And_ dancing. And...well, don't worry. I'm running a tab." She gave Joe a wink and handed Frank the credit card.

As they stepped outside to meet the taxi, Frank gazed at Joe genially.

"Hm. Alissa. Suzy. Dru. Y'know, Joe, I'm glad to see that looking for me didn't interfere with your social life in any way."

Joe grinned and reached over to pat his shoulder. "Hey, no sweat. I mean, I might have missed one or two opportunities, but what the heck. You're my only brother."

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

"I want to check on Callie."

"Great." agreed Joe as he pressed the elevator button for their floor. "That gives me dibs on the shower." They were beginning to feel warm again, the problem being that as they warmed, their muscles relaxed into sleep. Frank rubbed at his eyes for the hundredth time and knocked on Callie's door. It was opened almost immediately by Callie, looking bright-faced and excited.

"Frank!" she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I was just going to stop over! I had the best time last night!"

Frank smiled. Some of his tiredness left him just looking at her eager, happy expression. "I'm glad."

"How about you? How did you make out? Wait a minute - " she took a step backward to get a better look at his outfit. "Don't tell me you guys knocked off to go shopping. Or are you undercover as tourists?"

"Something like that." She heard the note of weariness in his voice and removed the hat that shadowed his face.

"Ouch," she said, taking a closer look. "What on earth happened?" She slipped her arm through his and walked with him to his hotel room while Frank briefly recounted their adventures of the night before. Callie shuddered and pressed closer to him when he described their night in the isolation hole.

"Ugh. I don't think I could have stood that. I hated Alcatraz - it gave me the creeps."

Frank grinned at the memory. "Joe too. But don't tell him I said so."

"Don't worry, I won't. I'm sympathetic. Maybe we have more in common than I thought."

"The problem isn't that you're so different. The problem is that you're so much alike." Frank opened the door. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable? I've got to drag Joe out of the shower while there's still some hot water left."

"I still think you guys should catch a few Zs," repeated Callie, watching with awe as they put away huge breakfasts in the coffee shop.

Frank shook his head and bit his toast. "No time. We bought ourselves a couple of hours leaving him on Alcatraz, but he could be back by 10:30. And since he knows we're on the loose instead of fish food, he might speed up his agenda. We need to be at the Opera House."

"If you say so, but I think you guys look pretty wasted."

"Are you kidding? After a shower and a full stomach, not to mention my own clothes, I feel like a new man. Don't even think about it, Joe." Frank deftly avoided Joe's hovering fork. "If you're still hungry, order something else. And try chewing, for a change. "

"Don't blame me," Joe protested. "It's all this sea air and exercise before breakfast that's worked up my appetite."

"I'll admit that there's nothing like an early morning dip to make you hungry," Frank agreed. He smiled at the waitress who came by to refresh their coffee. "We'll take the check, please. And a cheese danish to go for this guy."

Callie sighed dramatically. "Well, I can see you're all jazzed up to catch the bad guys, so I guess there's no talking to you. Let's go see what kind of cover Alissa's come up with for you."

They were amazed to see a line of people reaching out of the Opera House door.

Callie stared. "I forgot about the necklace being on display! I guess we'd better use the stage entrance. Though I'd love to see it," she added wistfully.

"I'm sure Alissa will get you a viewing." said Frank hurriedly, steering her around the building, toward the stage door. "Right now we've got to get in place."

"So we can hurry up and wait." said Callie. "Are you going to be like this all day?"

"Probably," put in Joe with a grin. They slipped through the stage door without exciting notice, and went in search of Alissa.

They didn't find Alissa until they had made their way back to the lobby. She was standing with a clipboard, trying to exercise some crowd control, but she smiled when she saw them. After a short, whispered conversation with the security guard, she made her way towards them. "You guys are bright and early! Some mad house, huh? Come with me and I'll show you the cover I worked out for you."

They followed her through some corridors and up a few flights of stairs into a large storage room filled with clothing racks. When they were out of earshot of everyone, they told her the story of their night on Alcatraz. By the time they were finished, her face was white.

"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "I just can't believe that Jerry tried to kill you!"

"He might have been trying to keep you out of the way." said Callie doubtfully.

"Yeah, and our friend with the skiff was just stopping by to make sure we were comfortable." said Joe sarcastically. "What's our cover?"

Alissa shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe this is just too dangerous. I think I should tell Gabby I've changed my mind and then we should go to the police with the whole thing."

"You can't!" Joe protested. "You'll tip them off! And if you tell the cops, they'll grab Jerry and Gabby and the brains of the outfit will get away! We can't take the chance, Alissa!"

"I can't take the chance on something happening to one of you, or to the _Romanov Rose_! I'd always feel responsible!"

"Look, we can take care of ourselves! We just escaped from Alcatraz, didn't we?"

"Joe has a point, Alissa," said Frank evenly. "We have some experience in this kind of thing. We've been fine so far, and it's not like they've made it easy for us. Take a chance and trust us. What do you say?"

"It's true, Alissa," Callie put in. "They've pulled off cases tougher than this one."

Alissa looked from one to the other, then sighed deeply. "I don't know what's gotten into me. Trusting a matter of national importance to a trio of teen detectives."

"You won't regret it," Joe offered a charming grin. "I promise. Now. About that cover."

"Ah." Alissa walked over to one of the racks of clothing. "We borrowed this collection part and parcel from the Met, so there are a few extras..." She pulled an outfit off the rack and eyeballed it. "Hm. That might be long enough. Try it." She tossed it to Frank. "And let's see..." she held one up to Joe, shook her head. "Never make it in the shoulders. Problem is, neither one of you is built like the average opera singer. How about...try this one."

Frank was glancing around. "Where do we change?"

"Here." Alissa smiled. "Performers get pretty used to changing their clothes in front of each other, but if you're feeling modest, you can duck behind those racks." Frank and Joe went behind a rack of long, heavy dresses and struggled with the strange outfits. They helped each other with the fastenings, then looked at one another.

"You've got to be kidding," said Joe.

"Come out and let me see." Alissa ordered. Reluctantly, they moved out from behind the rack. Alissa held out two bowl-like hats she had pulled off the shelf, eyeing them critically. "Not too bad. Here." She put a hat on each of them and stepped back to look again. They looked at one another and burst out laughing.

"What are we supposed to be?" gasped Frank, when he could get his breath.

"Soldiers. You can blend in with the chorus, who will be milling around backstage. You'll look like you belong, but you won't be immediately recognizable. The helmets ought to shadow your faces. Let's see. You'll each need a sword, shoes, and tights."

"_Tights?_" repeated Joe, staring down at his pantaloons with another grin of amusement.

"That's right. I brought tapes of the music so you'll know what scenes you're supposed to be in."

Frank froze. "We don't have to go _onstage_..."

"No, no - I want to make sure you duck out of sight at the right times so some well-meaning stage hand doesn't force you to go on." She was digging through a drawer marked "tights" as she spoke, and turned from checking a pair to glance at Callie. "There are swords in that umbrella stand over there, Callie- pull me two with their belts, will you?"

"Won't the other chorus members know we don't belong?" asked Joe, hitching up his pantaloons, which were big in the waist.

Alissa tossed him a pair of tights. "I doubt it. We've borrowed a lot of singers for this Gala, and it's the beginning of the season. There are lots of newcomers. Just keep a low profile. If someone asks where you sang last, say something obscure, like Sydney, Australia."

Callie handed Joe a sword hanging from a belt, and fastened Frank's around his hips. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling. "Personally, I think you look very dashing. Wait till you see me in my angel gear."

Joe tried walking without stepping on his sword. "We have to wear this stuff all day?"

Alissa laughed. "You'd look pretty silly wearing a costume at this hour for a show with a five-thirty call and an eight o'clock curtain. You can hang out here today, wherever you like. With all the crowds and confusion you won't be noticed, and I'll vouch for you if I have to. Not that I think anyone's going to make a try for that necklace with a line consisting of half of San Francisco snaking around it. At five-thirty sharp you go to the dressing room and get into these. I'll show you where."

Frank started unbuttoning his full-sleeved jacket in marked relief. "Can we look around the backstage area and get familiar with it?"

Alissa glanced at her watch. "I don't see why not. There probably won't be any techies on hand yet. Just promise me you'll keep in mind that Jerry is king back there and could show up at any time." They promised that they would and followed her, with their costumes on hangers, to the dressing room. Alissa showed them where to hang them and handed each a walkman and cassette. "Find a chance to listen to these. Callie, you're on for real, so don't forget." she studied them, her forehead puckered. "You'll be careful?"

Joe gave her a reassuring grin. "You bet. And we always land on our feet."

Frank looked up from tinkering with the walkman. "You've been great, Alissa. You're good at this work. You really think of everything."

Alissa's mouth tugged into a half-smile. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind, in case I bomb tonight. I'll be back to dress for Lise. Some debut!"

The Hardys let Callie guide them through the backstage area she had become familiar with the night before, including the dressing rooms. What quickly became clear was that there were about a thousand places in a theater to conceal someone or something.

"Well, okay," said Joe, as they sat in the Green Room, a place where the performers rested between scenes, feeling overwhelmed. "So we can't stake out everywhere. All we really need is to stake out the jewels. And I don't see how anybody is going to steal them in front of all those people."

"Me either," Frank admitted. "But they must have something in mind."

"Well, so do I. What do you say we knock off for lunch? I'm -"

"Starved," Callie finished for him. "Well, I'm hungry myself. We could eat at that place where Alissa took us yesterday."

"You guys go ahead. I'm going to stay with the jewels."

Joe gaped at him. "You don't think anybody is going to try anything with that armed guard and a couple hundred tourists standing there?"

"Not really," said Frank slowly. "I really think the only time to do it is backstage. I'd just feel better. I've been suckered one too many times on this one."

"Okay." Joe stood and stretched. "In that case, we'll pick up some sandwiches and we can all eat here. Just stay as much out of sight as you can. Remember, Gabby knows you, Jerry knows you, and somebody we don't know knows you." Frank nodded as they headed for the door. As he made his way toward the lobby, Joe's warning echoed unpleasantly in his ears.

He found a comfortable spot against a wall by a pillar where he could see the glass case with the jewels...at least, he could see where it was, since it was pretty well blocked by the bodies of the viewers. He noticed a series of surveillance cameras going, and wondered if they were standard equipment, or specially installed for the occasion. Grey jacketed security men seemed to be everywhere.

He felt a little silly. His watchful eye seemed kind of superfluous under the circumstances, but they probably weren't expecting trouble, and he definitely was.

The line moved in slow tedium and the security guards paced their rounds monotonously. Frank crossed his arms over his chest and yawned. The rigors of the night and his one hour sleep were catching up with him. He wished Joe and Callie would hurry back with those sandwiches.

"...very impressive. And very gratifying. It is good to be able to meet on this ground at last."

Frank started violently. He realized with disgust that, once again, he had been almost asleep, and shook himself slightly. The voice came from nearby, almost in front of him. He leaned against the pillar, listening.

"I have sent flowers to Kareechniva. She should be celebrated by her homeland tonight as well." His heart beat thunderously in his chest, and his knees turned to water.

He knew that voice. There was no mistaking it.

That soft, faintly accented tone was the same one that had warned him there was a gun in his ribs. The same one that had ordered him to the big, blue Lincoln. The same one that had calmly spoken of insulin as he had injected him with something that wasn't insulin at all.

_It was Cobra._

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

_Special thanks to amethyst for her kind review. I appreciate it._

**Chapter VIII**

"Indeed," answered a different voice, deep and hearty, "and from ours. I can't thank you enough, Sergei. This is truly an evening of triumph for both of us."

Frank peered cautiously around the pillar. He could see the backs of two men, exiting from a door he couldn't identify and moving down the corridor to his right. One was less than average height and slender, the other tall and broad shouldered and silver haired. Both wore dark overcoats. Both looked well groomed and important. The taller one was talking, using expansive hand gestures. The smaller one had his hands in his pockets. Frank strained his ears to hear him speak again. He didn't.

Frank stared after them in frustration. He had to follow them, but there was absolutely no cover in that corridor, and to be spotted could have uncomfortable consequences. He hesitated, biting his lip. He'd have to risk it, he decided.

He let them get a good lead, then followed casually, gazing at each door, like a tourist looking for the men's room. The silver haired man pushed open a fire door at the end of the hallway and gestured the other man ahead. Frank gave a hiss of disappointment. His position only afforded a good look at the back of the man's head. The fire door swung closed behind them with a click.

Frank frowned after them. Going through a door marked "for emergencies only" would be a dead giveaway. No one would believe he was following casually. Maybe if he let them get far enough ahead...leaning gently on the panic bar, he eased the door open a crack and pressed his eye to it. Parked down the block with its engine idling he saw a large, dark blue Lincoln. A driver was holding the door for the silver haired man. The other man was already inside. There was no way he could follow a car. He stared after it as it pulled away from the curb. The license read "MIMI". The car made a right at the corner, disappeared into San Francisco traffic.

"Looking for us?"

Frank jumped about two feet in the air. "Joe," he gasped, pressing a hand to his heart. "Don't do that."

"Sorry. Thought you'd be glad to see us." He indicated the paper bag he was carrying. "Lunch is served. Say-" he eyed his brother curiously. "What gives?"

"I just - " Frank paused, trying to explain. "I was following two guys. One of them - I'm sure - well, pretty sure, anyway, was Cobra."

Frank repeated his story over corned beef sandwiches and chips in the Green Room.

Callie sipped at her soda. "Did you get a look at him?"

Frank shook his head. "Not really. I only saw his back. He was about the same size...well, I guess he was. It was pretty far away at Alcatraz, and both times he wore loose clothing. He didn't even speak again, and when he did speak, I was half asleep. But it looked like the guy he was with was important. They left in one of those Lincolns."

Joe chewed a mouthful of chips. "We can get a look at the roster, see who signed it out."

Frank nodded. "Good idea. He said something about flowers for Kareechniva."

"She's the Russian soloist doing Marguerite tonight. She gets to wear the necklace." Callie supplied.

Frank screwed his eyes shut, struggling to remember. "The other guy called him Sergei. Ring a bell?"

Joe and Callie both shook their heads. Joe reached for another sandwich. "You know, Frank, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but..."

Frank looked at him. "But what?"

"But...well. I'm not saying we shouldn't check it out, but it's been a rough couple of days. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

Frank started to say of course he was sure, then hesitated. Was he? Had he actually heard the voice while he was awake, or was it just haunting his dreams? "Not entirely," he admitted at last. "Still, it's as much of a lead as we've got."

"I'll go see if I can get a peek at that log. While I'm there I'll stare at the jewels for a while." Joe picked up one of the walkmans and tossed the other to Frank. "And while we work, we can enjoy some musical accompaniment. Something tells me you can't dance to it."

Joe took the stairs to the administrative offices in search of Alissa. He saw no sign of her, but he did see that the door of the office he'd broken into - was it really only the other night? - was ajar. He peered inside, trying to look casual. Seeing no one, he entered quickly, and, pulling the logs off of the desk, ducked behind the door to read them. He started with the one on the left. Sure enough, it was the automobile log. Since he was already familiar with the way it was set up, he had no problem finding what he was looking for among the entries. Frank had said that the license plate was "MIMI", and it was signed out to one Brandon Carstairs. Whoever he was. Alissa would probably be able to enlighten him, if he could track her down.

He put the logs back where he'd found them, and checking the hallway carefully for passerbys, stepped back outside the office and slipped the headphones on. He might as well get familiar with the music while he looked around.

He made his way back down the stairs to the lobby and watched the crowd around the display case, making his way restlessly in and out of the pillars. He frankly thought his brother's precautions were ridiculous, but after what they'd been through the last few days, he'd decided to humor him. So he spent some time boredly watching the viewers and listening to the soldiers sing about vin and bier, whatever that was. Actually, the music wasn't half bad. Had kind of a cool beat.

After he felt he'd done his duty, he rewound the cassette tape and started back to the Green Room. Callie could take the last shift. He was part way to the Green Room when he decided on a detour. Alissa might be back in the office by now, and he was dying to know who Brandon Carstairs was. Anyway, it wouldn't hurt to check.

He made his way up the staircase toward the fourth floor administration offices, mulling over Frank's experience in the lobby.

Supposing the figure he'd seen was Cobra, what was he doing wandering casually around the Opera House? It sounded as though he was well connected, and that made their position more precarious than ever. They were going to need irrefutable evidence to convince anybody that a group of teenagers had the goods on some important official. He was frowning, deep in thought, when he rounded the landing to the fourth floor. There was a chorus rehearsal room up there - maybe Alissa was in there. He started down the narrow corridor and stepped into the balcony. He moved stealthily, more out of habit than need, and turned the corner. And stopped dead. He was face to face with a figure in black, frozen into sudden immobility.

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

Joe stared. The figure stared back. Joe probably would have recognized him, even without the tell-tale bruise by his eye where Joe had struck him with the soda can. The memory of their last altercation unfroze Joe's feet from the spot where shock had rooted them. He backstepped rapidly and turned to flee down the staircase. He felt the breeze from the man in black's arm as he made a grab for him and missed. He was much too close for comfort.

Joe's feet flew down the stairs to the third floor, barely touching, but fast as he was, he knew it wouldn't be fast enough. His friend from the hotel room probably wasn't feeling in good charity with him - after all, he had knocked him out and left him tied up in the vending machine room - probably earned him a good scolding from the Gray Man as well. Technically, they were on the same side as the Gray Man, but he had given the Hardy brothers orders to steer clear of this case, and was just looking for a way to ship them back to Bayport. Joe didn't intend to provide it.

He skipped the staircase to the second floor and swung around the corner instead. The only thing that would save him was to find a good hiding place, and this building was full of them. He plunged through the first door he came to and pushed it shut behind him, turning to lean against it.

The air was split with screams. For an instant Joe thought that he'd stumbled into another crime scene. Crinolines lay everywhere, along with curling irons, open makeup kits, and half-full coffee cups. All around him were women in various stages of dress - or undress - some in robes, some in corsets and petticoats, some just holding dresses in front of themselves like shields and screaming.

_Oh, no. Ladies dressing room._ Panicked, he turned back to the door, remembered what waited for him on the other side, and turned back again, slapping his hands over his eyes.

"Um...sorry...I just...um..."

"Cool it, girls. Can't you see he's more afraid of you than you are of him?"

Joe started to peek through his fingers to see who his defender was, then thought better of it. He concentrated on looking as innocent and harmless as he could.

"Come on. Make yourselves decent so the poor guy can uncover his eyes. That's right. Okay, pal. You can look now. Then you can explain yourself."

Joe carefully peeled his fingers from his eyes to find himself confronted by a girl in a dark red robe, her long brown hair wrapped around electric rollers. She was smiling wryly at him. "Lost our way, have we?"

Joe nodded, made a little speechless by the crowd of beautiful women, a breathtaking sight, even in their robes. "I didn't know - sorry -"

"Yeah, well, we're going to buy that story this time, since you look kind of green, and not report you to the Stage Manager. Whattya say, girls?"

The girls eyed him silently.

Joe turned cold at the thought of being turned over to Jerry Stryker. "Come on," he pleaded, "it was just a dumb mistake - I'm really sorry - "

A blonde girl in a peach robe smirked. "Oh, let's let him off the hook. He's kind of cute."

The other girls giggled in agreement.

Joe grinned in relief. "Thanks. You won't regret it." He turned toward the door again and remembered the man in black. If he knew this was the ladies dressing room, then he knew that all he had to do was bide his time outside. He turned back to the girl in the red robe. "Um. I don't suppose that there's another way out of here?"

The girl raised her eyebrows. "No. Except for the fire escape, of course. What on earth are you up to?"

Joe flushed scarlet. "I can't explain - is that it over there?" he pointed to a door in a niche against the far wall. She gestured him toward it with a flourish. All the girls' eyes followed him in various degrees of amusement and curiosity. He pushed it open to reveal the black grated fire escape outside. "Where does it lead?"

"Beats me. I always take the front door myself. You know, all this jumping around isn't going to help your performance. Unless you were planning on doing Tarzan instead of _Faust_?"

Joe shrugged, grinning in embarrassment. "Thanks for not turning me in. See you later." He stepped out onto the fire escape and started down the metal ladder. The girls crowded out onto the fire escape above him to wave goodbye. Laughing, he waved back as he made his way down to the second floor. Better keep going all the way to the mezzanine, just to be safe.

He made his way nimbly to the recessed fire exit by the mezzanine, just below ground level, and paused to catch his breath. He stopped smiling as he thought about his situation.

Of all the rotten luck. Now the Gray Man knew that they were back in the building, so they weren't only dodging Jerry Stryker, Gabby Townsend, and the mysterious Cobra, but the Gray Man and his people as well. He winced. Big building or not, it was just a matter of time before they bumped into one of them. And luck just didn't seem to be on their side. As far as he was concerned, the Russians had good reason to believe that the _Romanov Rose_ was cursed. It sure hadn't brought them anything but lousy luck. He'd better go report the situation to Frank.

This time he eased the door open and peeked through before entering. The lights were on, but it appeared empty. The sound of running water came from behind a door to the right - probably a bathroom. He tiptoed across the room to the door opposite, and peered out into the hallway. Coast was clear. He slipped outside and drew a big breath of relief.

He was just passing the next dressing room door when the sound of an altercation made him pause. Now what?

A woman was hollering something in a language he didn't understand. Before he could decide whether to move on or check and see if everything was all right, a tall woman erupted from one of the dressing rooms and ran smack into him. He mumbled his apologies, backing up and blushing furiously. The woman, a striking brunette of indeterminate age with a sculptured face and burning dark eyes, was wearing only a dressing gown. She stared at him in surprise, then smiled suddenly, so dazzlingly that it made Joe a little dizzy.

"Olga!" she cried, clasping her hands and making the words sound more like song than speech. "Please to come here!" A thin woman in a plain, dark print dress with her hair in an uncompromising bun came to the dressing room doorway.

The tall woman put her hands on Joe's shoulders, smiling her ravishing smile. "American boys. They are so beautiful, yes? You are with the Opera?" Joe nodded dumbly. "Is good. You do for me a favor? Very small. Very fast."

"Sure."

She beamed her thanks and, taking his hand, led him into the dressing room. Joe noticed the star on the door and a printed sign that read "Kareechniva".

She gestured to an enormous basket of roses lying on its side. "These flowers," she explained. "I can not keep. But the cast would perhaps enjoy. You would please to carry them to the cast room for me?"

Joe nodded, righting the basket and giving a low whistle. There had to be five dozen roses there anyway, all long stemmed in pink and yellow and red and white. "Too bad. You allergic?"

"Allergic? Ah, yes!" she gave a bubble of laughter. "Very allergic. To the man who send, you see? But the flowers, is not their fault. Still beautiful. Should be enjoy." She opened her hand and frowned at the slightly crumpled card there. She turned it over to the blank side. "My English. I understand very well, speak okay. But write-" she shook her head. "Not so good. You maybe write message for me. How much I enjoy working with cast, all the good wishes I have for performance, something nice. American. Sign Galina. Yes?"

"No problem." Joe took the card and hefted the basket in one hand.

She flashed her smile again. "Thank you many times. You are sweet as well as beautiful." She patted his cheek and kissed it lightly. "Favor I must return. Let me see. Olga -" she smiled at the stiff woman with the bun. "Tea is what time?"

Olga looked at Joe with an expression that he couldn't read. "Three PM. As alway."

Galina smiled. "Lovely. You come back at three. Have tea. Yes?"

"Sure." Joe couldn't quite believe his ears. Callie would be green with jealousy. That gave him an idea. "I'd love to, but - I'm with two friends. I don't suppose - "

She made a grand gesture. "Bring. I enjoy meet. Three PM. Now I must do scales. But I see you later, yes?"

"Uh, sure." Joe backed out of the dressing room to the sound of her running vocal scales.

He lugged the roses back to the Green Room and dropped them on the table there. Callie was at the sink and Frank was sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the table, listening to his walkman with his eyes closed. Joe reached over and cranked up the volume knob. Frank cried out and sat up straight, swinging his legs to the floor and tearing off his headphones. He glared at Joe.

Joe grinned. "Now that I have your attention. Guess who I met?"

Frank glanced at the basket. "A florist."

"Uh-uh. Galina Kareechniva. She asked me to write a good luck note to the cast for her." He flicked the card to Frank. "Here. You're better at that kind of thing than I am."

Callie flew back to the sofa. "You didn't! Galina Kareechniva? You're kidding!"

Joe shook his head. "Nope. It was her. Written plain as day on the dressing room door. Besides, I recognized her from her picture in the flyer."

Callie's mouth fell open. "I don't believe it!" she wailed. "Joe Hardy, of all people! It's not fair! You couldn't begin to appreciate her!"

"Not true." Joe objected. "I appreciated her a lot. She's a knockout."

Callie clutched at her head. "If that isn't just like you! You meet a brilliant artist, the star of the Bolshoi Opera, and that's all you can think about!"

"Hey, I'm not the only one! She called me a beautiful American boy! And she said she'd see me later," he winked at Callie. "Maybe I could introduce you."

Callie turned to Frank to complain, and noticed him studying the card with his brow furrowed. "Can't think of anything to write?"

Frank didn't look up. "No. I mean, yes, but - I'm trying to read the other side."

"Other side?" Callie sat down on the arm of the sofa next to him.

"Yeah. Message from the sender."

"What does it say?"

"Well," Frank hesitated. "My Russian is kind of spotty. And I'm used to reading print, not script..."

Joe leaned over his shoulder on the other side. "Can you tell who it's from? She said she was allergic to the guy."

"I don't know. Maybe I'm losing it, but..." his eyes met Joe's grimly. "I'd swear it says Sergei Kovran."

Joe stared at him in dawning comprehension. "Frank!" he shook him by the shoulder for emphasis. "That's it! Not Cobra! Kovran!"

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

_I can't really tell if it's worth finishing posting this or not - but it's been sitting on my hard drive for so long, I guess I might as well take it to the end, whether anyone reads it or not._

**Chapter X**

"Sergei Kovran." Alissa repeated. "Of course I know who he is. And Brandon Carstairs. Why?"

"We think we may be narrowing down the field." Frank explained. "Do they work here?"

"Carstairs is a member of our Board of Directors. President, in fact. Kovran is a member of the Russian Diplomatic Corps, traveling with the necklace."

Joe looked hopefully at Frank. "Make sense?"

"No," said Frank unhappily, kneading his temples. It seemed to him that his brain just wasn't working the way it used to. "I feel like I've got a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces missing. I need to think."

Callie swung her legs, looking thoughtful. "So, if Kovran's been traveling with the necklace all along, why wait until he got here to steal it? And why drag Gabby and Jerry into it?"

"Fall guys, maybe," mused Frank. "Or, if he's political, he may want to stir things up between the U.S. and Russia."

Joe made a face. "Nice."

"What else do you know about him, Alissa? Anything?"

Alissa sighed. "No, not really. He's pretty nondescript. He's been around since Galina and the necklace arrived. He fawns over Galina. Sends flowers and things, and she keeps rejecting him. Other than that..."

"Okay. Let's look at that. Know what the animosity is all about?"

"Not really. I heard some gossip that he was part of the Communist Regime and her family suffered under the Soviet Regime. That she holds a grudge about it. But it's just backstage gossip. I guess a lot of the dust hasn't settled in Russia yet."

"How about Carstairs?"

Alissa laughed. "I'm sorry, but I think that one's a real stretch. Carstairs is a member of one of the founding families of San Francisco and filthy rich to boot. I can't imagine why he'd take such a chance. And he's so dedicated to the Opera. I'll never believe he'd do anything to besmirch it."

Frank took a turn about the room. "All right. So we don't have the whole thing. But if Cobra and Kovran _are_ one in the same - he'll be here tonight?"

"Oh, I'm certain. That's why he's in town."

"Then I guess the best we can do is take our places and keep an eye on Gabby, Jerry and Kovran."

"Speaking of places," Alissa glanced at her watch. "I need you on stage, Callie, for a final run with the flying equipment. You guys can watch, if you stay out of sight."

"Great." Frank started toward the door.

Joe hesitated. "How long will it take?"

"Hard to say. Why?"

"Well, I was planning to torture Callie a little longer before I told you, but Kareechniva invited me to tea at three. I wheedled invitations for Frank and Callie, too."

Callie let out a shriek, and threw her arms around Joe. "I'll never forget this! Never, never, never!"

Alissa shook her head. "You lead a charmed life, Joe Hardy. I work here, and _I've_ never had tea with Kareechniva. Think you could wheedle me an introduction?"

Joe grinned, looking pleased with himself. "I'll see what I can do."

But he dropped back a little to let Alissa and Callie proceed him, grabbing Frank's arm to detain him as well. "I need to tell you something. The Gray Man knows we're in the building." He recounted his adventures in an undertone to Frank, who couldn't suppress a smile at the story of the ladies' dressing room. But his face grew strained as Joe finished.

"Does he know about me?"

Joe shrugged. "Who can say?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't know, Joe. Maybe we're taking an awful chance. Maybe we should just tell him what we know and let him handle it."

Joe stared at him. "Just how hard _was_ that hit you took on your head?"

Frank grinned in spite of himself. "Okay, okay. There's just so much at stake, and it keeps getting more complicated."

"And there's nobody in a better position than us. It would take us forever to get the Gray Man up to speed, even if we were sure where to find him. And we don't know what he'd do to Gabby or even Alissa - there's more than us involved, Frank."

"You're right." Frank ran a hand through his hair. "I just still feel like we're flying blind, and we're running out of time. Speaking of flying, let's go watch Callie. Who knows, maybe Kareechniva will be able to shed some light on things."

Joe and Frank found a darkened niche in the back of the theatre to watch the action on stage. Seeing the number of stagehands milling about, Joe had to wonder about the wisdom of watching this process at all, but he saw that Frank's eyes were glued to Callie and there was little hope of budging him until she had finished.

Callie and Suzy both disappeared into the wings. A short time later, Suzy reappeared: first her feet, then legs, then upper body appearing gradually from under the scrim stage right.

"Okay, Suzy." called a voice offstage. "Swing around a little to get your confidence up."

Suzy obediently rocked back and forth - cautiously at first, then more wildly.

She laughed loudly. "This is fun!"

Joe leaned over to murmur in Frank's ear, "That chick is nuts!"

"Bringing you back up." said the voice off. Suzy disappeared under the scrim. "Now you, Callie."

Callie's feet began to appear under the scrim stage left, followed by the rest of her. Joe thought that, even from this distance, she held herself stiffly, as though she was tense.

"Okay, Callie. Try some swings, now, just to get the feel of it."

For a moment Callie just hung there, then she started a little, tentative sway.

"Try a little stronger swing, Callie. It'll be harder right now, but it will make it easier later on, with the lights up and so much going on."

Obediently, Callie swung a little harder, then managed a vigorous, rhythmic swing.

"Good, Callie. Bringing you back up."

Callie's harness began to lift smoothly under the scrim, then gave a funny jerk and dropped a few inches, twisting far above the stage. Joe felt his heart give a funny jerk along with the harness, and gave a sideways look at Frank, whose stony gaze was fixed on the stage.

"Hang on just a second, Callie, something's jammed. I'll have you up in just a second."

"Okay." Callie's voice gave a tell-tale quaver.

"I'll bet this kind of stuff happens all the time." Joe offered in an undertone to Frank, but Frank gave no sign of having heard him. He seemed transfixed by the twisting harness.

"Okay, Callie, bringing you up."

This time Callie began to rise slowly, with an effort. Suddenly, the harness gave another jerk. One of the straps gave way with a rending sound, and Callie, with a piercing scream, slid free, dangling by the one arm still entangled in the harness, the stage reeling a deadly distance below.

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

_Many thanks to alybro, Ozma and my good buddy amethyst. And apologies too - I didn't mean I would stop posting - this one is done and has been on my conscious for too long for that. But it's sure nice to know somebody's out there. __J_

**Chapter XI**

The theatre was filled with screams and shouting. Callie's face was so white that she looked like she might faint, sending her on a drop to her death.

That was all Joe had time to notice, because he had his own hands full. At the sound of Callie's scream, Frank had leapt forward from their hiding place. Only Joe's quick tackle stopped him from running down the aisle to the rescue. Frank struggled like a wild man. Joe was glad that everyone's attention was riveted to the stage.

"Cut it out, Frank!" Joe hissed in his ear. "Even if you could get there in time, there's nothing you could do! You're just exposing yourself needlessly!"

Frank didn't answer, but with a sudden movement, nearly broke free. Joe tightened his grip. Right now, his greater bodyweight gave him the advantage, but Frank was more flexible and had some pretty smooth moves. He had a brief, nightmarish flash of memory - of Frank holding him back, as he tried to rush forward and pull Iola from the burning car where she'd met her death - and for a moment his heart broke all over again. In that moment Frank slipped from his grasp.

The offstage voice echoed throughout the theatre. "Everybody calm down! Get a mattress or something under her! Callie, honey, hang on - I'm coming for you!"

Joe, cursing his second of deja vu, dove after Frank. He wasn't Bayport's best tackle for nothing, and though Frank was a good quarterback, there was no room for evasive action in the narrow theatre aisle. Joe got him firmly around the knees. He flipped Frank over while he was still winded and sat on his chest, shaking him by the shoulders.

"Listen to me! She's okay! They've got her! I'm going to let you look, but you've got to stay put!" Frank's blank, frantic stare began to refocus and he stared at Joe for a moment before giving a perfunctory nod. Joe helped him to sit up, but kept a tight grip on his arm. Frank's straining eyes gazed at the stage, where someone else in a harness was lowering himself next to Callie. Four stagehands held a tarp under her in case she should fall.

Callie's face was still white, but she didn't seem to be loosening her grip. Joe and Frank watched in tense silence as the stagehand in the harness moved in closer - carefully, so as not to startle her into letting go. In another minute he had his arm around her waist.

"Let go of the harness and put your arms around me, Callie." For a second, it looked as though Callie would not be able to loosen her death grip on the harness, but the Stagehand wrapped his other arm around her and spoke to her soothingly for a few minutes, and she finally wrapped her arms around his neck. "Okay, guys, lower us, nice and easy, down to the stage."

Neither Joe or Frank breathed as Callie began her slow descent to the stage, but within a short time the stagehand had landed on his feet. He set Callie down and knelt beside her. "I'd like some water over here! And smelling salts!"

Frank made a move to rise and join them, but Joe yanked him firmly back down. "Jerry Stryker's on that stage," he explained in an undertone. Frank glared, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him. He watched from a distance as they ministered to Callie. His muscles under Joe's grip felt tense as iron. After a minute Joe said, "Look, I'll go find Alissa. She'll tell us which dressing room they take Callie to, and if the coast is clear for us to join her. Okay?"

Frank nodded, and Joe helped him to his feet. As they started down the darkened column of stairs, Joe said slowly "Know what this made me think of? Remember how I tried to pull Iola out of that explosion, even though it was hopeless? And you stopped me? I even punched you in the mouth. Remember?" Frank looked at him, his expression softening. "So I guess now I know how you felt. And you kind of know how I felt."

Frank nodded. "Except that Callie's still alive."

"Right."

"And I didn't get to punch you in the mouth."

"Also right. And you're not gonna."

"So - I guess I mean thanks."

"You're welcome. But you still can't punch me."

Finding Alissa was no problem - the near tragedy seemed to have brought people from every corner. Having assured herself that Callie was all right, she had obviously gone looking for them and grabbed onto Joe's arm as he exited the theatre.

"There you guys are. They took her to one of the unoccupied star dressing rooms to rest. I asked them to all clear out so she can sleep, so you should be able to see her in a minute." She gestured to them to follow her down the hall, and stopped beside another dressing room door, marked with a star, as Galina's had been. She knocked gently on the door and poked her head in. Then she pushed the door further inward and indicated for them to go ahead.

Callie was sitting up on a coach, and when she saw Frank, she held out her arms to him. Without a word, he sat down next to her and held her close.

Joe grinned at Alissa. "I think we're a little in the way here."

Alissa shook her head. "Maybe so, but I'm not budging until we make some decisions. This has gotten way, way too dangerous. I say we call the police right now."

Callie pulled her head up from Frank's shoulder. "It could have been a coincidence. No one could be sure which harness I'd get - not even Jerry."

"That makes it worse. That means they don't care who they kill. I say you kids are out of it right now."

"Maybe it was just the curse," Joe suggested. "In which case, it's gonna follow us no matter what we do and we might as well see this thing through."

Alissa snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. We need to contact some kind of authorities before someone is hurt for real."

Joe looked at Frank. "You're pretty quiet."

"I don't know - seeing Callie hang over that stage - maybe Alissa is right."

Callie sat up straight. "I see! So this is about me again! Well, I, for one, vote that we carry on! He's not going to try that harness trick again - especially with Eric checking over every piece of equipment with a fine tooth comb. And by the time we convince any authorities that this is for real and not some teenage prank, the _Romanov Rose_ will be long gone."

Alissa stared at her. "You don't mean that you're still willing to be an angel!"

"Of course I am! I'm not a quitter!"

"Callie, we know you're not, but don't you think -"

"What I think, Frank Hardy, is that I had to hang tough for two whole days while you were missing and in God knows what condition, and now you can hang tough through this. Besides, as I say, I think the danger is over for me, if there ever actually was any."

"That is the most convoluted logic - " Frank caught a glimpse of Joe's face. "And what are you finding so funny?"

Joe's grin broadened. "Was I laughing? I guess I'm just so relieved Callie's all right. And making such good sense, too."

Frank sighed. "You're both impossible."

Alissa shook her head. "I agree. Unfortunately, though, there's some sense to what you say. I don't know what to do."

Frank shrugged. "I guess there's only one thing to do. Keep on keeping on. You'd better take a nap, Cal."

Callie stood up and straightened her shoulders. "And miss tea with Kareechniva? You must be joking. I never felt better in my life. If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to powder my nose."

Frank stared after her bemusedly as she disappeared into the bath adjoining the dressing room. Joe patted him on the shoulder, and Frank gave him a sour look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Joe grinned. "Better than the Boxing Channel. Come on and run a comb through your hair before you meet the Great Kareechniva. I want you to make a good impression."

000

The Great Kareechniva had her dressing room beautifully tripped out with scented candles and a small, polished samovar. They drank tea in tall glasses, sweetened with cherry jam instead of sugar. Tiny pancakes wrapped around different fillings that she called "blini" and a cranberry pudding garnished with sour cream completed the spread.

"Not good eat too much before singing", Galina explained, cheerfully putting away her third blini. "But not good eat too little, either. Good singing need big energy. Where you children first sing? Here?"

"Um. Sydney. Australia," Joe said weakly, remembering Alissa's advice. It hadn't occurred to him that she could ask some pretty embarrassing questions.

Galina nodded. "I never see. Someday, maybe."

"Thank you for the beautiful flowers, Ms. Kareechniva," Callie chimed in eagerly. "It was so nice of you to send them. But are you sure you want us to have them? The back of the card said 'From Sergei' - it would be a shame to disappoint one of your admirers."

Joe tossed her an admiring glance.

Galina's face grew surprisingly hard. She shrugged. "Sergei admires no one. He is - what is English - no _duscha_."

"Soul," Frank supplied. "No soul."

"_Da_. He is wild dog. He feeds from the carcasses of others' misfortune."

"But he's an ambassador. He represents your country."

"_My country_," Galina nearly spat the words. "He represents Sergei. He has tortured my country. My people. Because of Sergei many, many innocents - my father included - are dead. Dead or dying in hard labor camps. You do not know what men like Sergei did in the name of Communism. What they will continue to do, if someone does not stop them. He pretends to want peace, progress. He only waits to feed again."

"What happened to your father?" Callie asked at last, shyly.

For a minute they thought she would not answer, then she sighed deeply. "My father. A good man. Many high ideals. He protested lavish housing available for some, not for others. Jobs for some, others starving. He spoke loudly. In squares. In marketplaces. Wherever there were people. Of tyranny. Of injustice. Of unequal opportunity. This, in Soviet Russia." She shook her head. "A good man, but not wise. Suicide, this."

She was silent again, until Callie said, "And he died?"

"Died?" Galina raised her eyebrows "For this? Of course. Arrested. Executed.

Kolya - my brother - swore revenge. Wiser than my father he was - secret. But still…mad. They know everything, the KGB. Are ruthless. He was not so lucky as my father. He was sent to hard labor in the Ural Mountains. My mother broke her heart for this. She was ill…long time."

"Is she…better now?"

Galina smiled a new smile - cold, harrowing. "Better? Suppose yes. Medical treatment too not equal in Soviet Russia. She die - two years later." She looked from one to the other of them, her eyes burning with hate. "Who you think was arresting agent for my father, my brother? Who? You guess."

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

"You had better get into costume. I have a few last minute details, then I'll do the same." Alissa grinned at them, reaching over to pat Joe's cheek. "Break a leg. But nothing else, okay?"

Joe had pushed through the Green Room door before he realized that Frank wasn't with him. He went back in and saw his brother frowning moodily at the roses. "You coming?"

"Huh?" Frank started, as though interrupted deep in thought. "Yeah." He turned to follow Joe. Callie had already gone ahead to warm up with the other angels.

"Something bothering you?"

Frank laughed shortly. "Me, I guess. I feel like I'm missing something important and I can't seem to jump start my brain."

"Lighten up on yourself. You're cruising on no sleep. Couple hours of down time and your little grey cells will be clicking again."

"I hope you're right. At least I know I didn't dream Kovran - he mentioned flowers for Kareechniva. Joe, what do you think of Kareechniva's story?"

Joe shrugged. "I think it's pretty sad. And if what she says is true, Kovran's a total creep."

Frank shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, you're right, but what I meant was, do you think she's another suspect? The _Romanov Rose_ is under Kovran's care. Losing it could cause an international incident and certainly destroy his career and she's the only person to actually handle it out of sight of the guards. Just seems like she's got means and motive. What do you think?"

Joe made a face. "I like Galina," he complained "I hate suspecting people I like."

"Me too, but I think we need to at least look at the possibilities."

Joe grunted. "You mean that Galina could be this Cobra person, and working with Jerry and Gabby, not Kovran? But you recognized Kovran's voice didn't you?"

"Yeah. I think so. But she could be after it, too. Separately."

Joe groaned. "Oh, now that would be just great. Just how many people do you suppose we need to keep an eye on, anyway?"

"No people." Frank frowned in concentration. "We need to keep our eyes on the _Romanov Rose_. What do you say one of us takes the stage right wing near Jerry's station as Stage Manager, and the other takes the stage left wing near the Prop Table? Callie doesn't go on until the end, so she can drift through the Green Room and the dressing rooms."

"Okay. I'll take stage right, since Jerry isn't as likely to recognize me. Not that he's likely to recognize anybody back there in the dark."

"Right." Frank smiled at him ruefully. "Not one of my better plans."

Joe draped an arm over his shoulders. "I like it. It leaves lots of room for my specialty - improvisation."

000

Actually, Joe thought later, standing in the wings, it left even more room for boredom. Definitely _not_ his specialty. Stakeouts were a big part of detective work, but he had never tolerated them with any patience.

At first it had been exciting. You couldn't help but be excited surrounded by the buzz and clamor of an opening night Gala - singers flying around in costume, hugging each other, muttering musical phrases to themselves. And the sight of himself in his soldier costume had made him grin. From funny shoes, to tights, to doublet and hat, he couldn't believe the lengths he'd go to for a case. Frank had looked just as comical, though Callie in her angel costume had created such a vision that he had dragged Frank's mind back to the task at hand with some difficulty.

But now the excitement had worn off, the singers had gotten down to the business of performing, and he was left standing in the odd blue light of the backstage area, wondering if all operas were so _long_. He had successfully ducked the rest of the soldier crowd as they trooped on stage to sing about the joys of war with the students and townspeople. Alissa had been among them, and had sung a few solo lines. He was no expert, but it seemed to him that she was better than okay.

He glanced across the stage to the wings on the other side, where he could just make out Frank. Frank caught his eye and nodded, and Joe pulled himself to attention. Time for the jewels to make an appearance! He drew back deeper into the shadows as the Assistant Stage Manager approached the singer playing Mephistopheles and handed him a small, wooden casket painted gold. Joe felt his heart start to hammer. He watched intently as Mephistopheles and Faust sang a song involving the casket, then planted the small box in Marguerite's garden as the lights came down. The audience seemed to come alive with electricity. Here was the scene they'd been waiting for!

As he watched intently, Jerry handed his headset to the Assistant Stage Manager and removed the casket from the stage. Gabby stood waiting for him, flanked by four security guards, holding an identical wooden casket. She handed it to Jerry, who nodded and switched it with the one in Marguerite's garden.

The lights came up and Marguerite found the casket and opened it. The audience gasped aloud as she removed the _Romanov Rose_ and held it up in front of her eyes so that it flashed with a hundred colors under the lights. Then she danced about the stage with it, singing _"Je me fais ris", _and turning it this way and that. After she had pranced about sufficiently, admired by her neighbor Marthe, she spun in a jubilant circle, throwing sparkling light into every corner of the stage, before tossing the necklace in the air and catching it in her upraised fist. The lights went out to thunderous applause.

The blue lights didn't actually extend to the onstage area, so Joe couldn't really see what happened next, but when he could see the casket again, Jerry was handing it to Gabby, who was walking away with her armed guard.

Joe frowned. What had happened to the other chest? After a moment, he saw the Assistant Stage Manager who had relieved Jerry on the headset emerge carrying it, heading back toward the Prop Table. Without hesitation, Joe followed.

The Assistant went directly to the large Prop Table and put the chest down on the taped spot marked "jewel casket". Frank appeared next to him and raised his brows inquiringly.

Joe gestured to the casket. "There were two." he whispered. "I thought there might have been a switch." Carefully, he raised the lid. In the uncertain light, it looked like a lot of junk jewelry - certainly not the distinctive _Romanov Rose_. There hadn't been time to hide it well, but Joe pawed through the baubles anyway.

"Anything?" Frank whispered. Joe shook his head.

"Hey! Get away from there!"

They both looked up, startled.

The Assistant Stage Manager was glaring at them. "When you need your props, come get me. But don't touch otherwise! That's how things get misplaced! Now get ready! You've got an entrance coming up!"

"You'd better get back." Frank whispered. "I'll try to look again later. Keep an eye on Jerry."

"Come on, you guys! You know the rules! No unnecessary conversation! Places for Scene 8!"

Joe started to push his way back to stage right. It was possible that Jerry had the _Romanov Rose _in his pocket right now. He had taken it from Kareechniva and supposedly given it back to Gabby in the casket. But who could be sure? And where could he hide it? Somewhere in the Stage Manager's station? He'd have to keep a close eye on him.

He was so intent on his thoughts that he didn't hear the music cueing up until one of the other soldiers grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?" he hissed in a whisper. "Don't you hear the music? We're on!"

Joe opened his mouth to protest, but there were soldiers behind him, marching, and soldiers to the left and right. He turned to push his way through them, but a bright light suddenly assaulted his eyes. Somewhere in front of him was an endless dark blur of faces. People in brightly colored village costumes were gaily waving handkerchiefs. All around him, soldiers drew their swords and began to sing lustily. Joe blinked, automatically drawing his sword also, as the truth dawned on him.

Like it or not, he had become part of the opera! He was onstage!

000

Frank, from the stage left wing, stared in astonishment at the sight of his brother onstage. He couldn't help grinning. Joe looked astonished, then panicked, then, gradually, relaxed, as he began to gesture and sing as boisterously as any of them.

A star is born, thought Frank, shaking his head. Here was one to tell the guys back home.

He frowned suddenly. But it meant that there was no one to keep an eye on Jerry. Jerry may have even arranged this little diversion. Maybe he should work his way to the other side, though it meant risking being thrust onstage himself.

As he hesitated, torn, he heard someone whispering to the Assistant Stage Manager somewhere behind him. Even in a whisper, the voice sent his blood racing.

It was Kovran! Here, backstage!

He turned cautiously, keeping his helmet low over his eyes. A few feet away he could dimly make out an elegantly tuxedoed back climbing the ladder to the catwalks. As the figure disappeared into the catwalks above, he thought he caught a glimpse of expensive, silver-toed boots.

Frank looked back at the stage. Joe was still singing, and the number wouldn't be over anytime soon. He had to follow. Kovran might be making his way to the other side to join Jerry. They might be planning to escape!

He slipped his sword hastily out of his swordbelt and leaned it against the wall by the ladder, pointing up. That way, if Joe came looking for him, he'd know where he'd gone. Then he silently began the climb to the catwalks.

The lighting was even dimmer up above, and Frank had to give his eyes a second to adjust. He glanced about hastily. No sign of Kovran. Well, he'd just have to assume he was headed toward the other wing.

He started after him, making his way carefully on the thin platform, trying not to make a sound. He was almost to the back wall when suddenly something hard and round pressed deep into his spine. He closed his eyes and swallowed. _A trap._

The darkness became a shadowy figure and a soft voice in his ear said, almost gently, "My good young friend. Of course, it was obvious that curiosity would be your downfall in the end."

_TBC_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII**

"Sergei Kovran." said Frank quietly.

"Very good." Kovran sounded a little surprised. "You have been a very great inconvenience, I assure you. All my beautiful plans, thrown into turmoil by an unlucky chance meeting. It will be a pleasure to be rid of you at last."

Frank had one ear on the music below. "What about Gabby and Jerry? Are you really going to split with them?"

"Gabby and Jerry." Kovran's voice was contemptuous. "The imbeciles we must sometimes ally ourselves with. Weak fools, both, but useful. A pity about their accident."

A hand squeezed at Frank's heart. "What accident?"

"A little arrangement I made. You will not be alive to see it. Turn around, please. Slowly."

Frank did as he was told. Even in the dark, the eyes he faced were amazingly cold. Frank struggled to calm his breathing. Just keep talking, he thought. This song can't last forever. "So tell me. What makes a diplomat decide to steal a national treasure from his own country?"

For the first time, Kovran showed emotion. "Steal!" he spat. "Steal! And how did Russia come by this great treasure, hm? Do you recall? It was the property of the Romanovs, who were robbed of all they owned and brutally murdered, even the children. All those remotely related fled the country when they could. My grandmother managed to make a new home in Czechoslovakia. She never let me forget that Romanov blood ran in my veins, or how that proud house had ended.

After all that was taken from us, why is it wrong that I should take something back?

You are an American. You hold personal property sacred. Perhaps I am not the most closely related Romanov left living, but I am the only one, it seems, interested in making a claim. Why should it belong to the government? A government that robbed and murdered to own it?"

Frank didn't answer. He hardly dared breath. Wonderful, he thought. He's armed, and he's loony. And how did this song get so long?

000

Joe had to admit that he enjoyed the number. Suzy guided him through it, showing him how to freeze at the end for applause. But part of his mind was occupied with Jerry, and he immediately broke to head for the wings.

Suzy grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Where are you going?" she whispered. "They're encoring us!"

Joe groaned inwardly as they began the last chorus again. Great, he thought. Jerry could be halfway to the airport by this time.

000

"So. Why'd you end up back in Russia?" Frank couldn't believe he was using parlor chat on a guy with a gun at his heart, but he had to stall until he could think of an out, or Joe got there, or both.

"For justice. It was pathetically easy. With the Communists I was Communist. With the Nationalists I am Nationalist. Zealots and fools are easy to deceive."

Yeah, especially if you aren't burdened with any loyalties, thought Frank sourly, but he kept it to himself. He didn't want to anger Kovran. Just stall him.

Kovran crinkled his eyes at him suddenly. "Don't deceive yourself, my friend, that you are distracting me," he said mildly. "I am only passing time. In the next scene, you see, is a duel between Valentine and Faust. The noise should be sufficient to cover any awkwardness up here."

000

Joe finally got to exit, with Suzy pulling on his arm.

"You have a great tenor, y'know? How come, like, I never heard you before?" Joe smiled absently, staring down the wings towards Jerry's station. From here he couldn't tell if he was there or not. "So, like, what do you say? Want to, like, go with me to the reception after?"

"Reception?" Joe tried to wrest his arm from Suzy's insistent grasp.

"Yeah, it'll be great. Champagne and everything. I mean, we can't drink or anything, but it'll be great."

"Suzy," said Joe desperately as she showed no sign of releasing him, "Don't you have to get into your angel costume?"

Suzy gasped. "Oh, wow! You're right!" She hurried toward the exit leading to the dressing rooms. Sighing with relief, Joe edged toward the wing where Jerry was stationed, moving until he could get a good look. But there was Jerry, headphones on, flashlight in hand. He moved to where he could look across the stage to Frank and signal that everything was all right.

Frank was nowhere in sight.

000

Frank heard the soldier song end at last and braced himself. If he was going to make a move, it would have to be soon. He saw Kovran tilt his head, listening for some moment in the music. It was only the tiniest lapse in his attention, but Frank took advantage of it, grabbing the gun with both hands and throwing himself against Kovran.

The catwalk shivered as they went down, fighting for control of the gun. Kovran was not a large man, but his wiry strength was amazing. Frank managed to slam his knee into Kovran's gun hand and felt it release, heard the gun go skittering down the length of the catwalk. With a soft cry of rage, Kovran rammed his elbow into Frank's jaw. For a moment the pain loosened Frank's grip, and Kovran dove for the gun. Frank threw himself on top of him, grappling to reach the gun first. Twisting like lightening, Kovran jerked to his side to throw Frank from his back. The unexpected action sent Frank rolling off him - and over the edge of the catwalk, free-falling. He flailed to grab something - anything - to stop his deadly drop to the floor far below. His hand brushed one of the railing supports, and with a movement that nearly yanked his arm from its socket, he managed to wrap his hand around it. His body dangled in space, swinging gently.

He expected to see Kovran pick up the gun and finish it then and there, but he didn't. He knelt on the catwalk, smiling down at him. "Actually," he said pleasantly, "this is rather neater." And with his exquisite Italian boot, he applied pressure to Frank's clinging hand.

000

Joe glanced from Jerry to the opposite wing and made up his mind. Maybe Frank had found an opportunity to study that jewel casket, or maybe he had found something else. Either way, he wanted to know what it was.

He made his way backstage to the stage left wing and glanced around. No Frank. The jewel casket was still on the Prop Table. He paced the area. Frank could just be wishing Callie luck, but - he spotted Frank's sword, resting at the bottom of the catwalk ladder, pointing upward, and raised his eyebrows. He studied it for a moment, but that seemed to be the only message. With a shrug, he began to climb.

000

Frank felt his fingers loosening under the insistent pressure of Kovran's boot. He tried to get a grip with his free hand, but the movement so endangered his precarious hold that he instantly thought better of it. His shoulder screamed with the strain and his fingers burned. He looked up at Kovran, his vision blurred with sweat and pain.

Suddenly, there was a soft swishing sound and a flutter of whiteness that slammed into Kovran, sprawling him on the catwalk. The release of the pressure on Frank's hand made him gasp. Then blink. Then wonder if he was dead already.

For there on the catwalk stood an avenging angel, complete with flowing white robes and golden wings, halo slightly askew. This angel had burning eyes and Kovran's gun in a two handed grip, pointed at his astonished face. It took Frank a second to realize that it was Callie, looking fiercer than he'd ever seen her.

"Go ahead," she grated at Kovran, pulling back the hammer. "Just give me a reason."

_TBC_


	14. Chapter 14

_Many thanks to AZWriter._

**Chapter XIV**

Kovran met Callie's look with a shrewd one of his own. Quick as a cat, he sprang to his feet and shoved past her on the narrow platform.

His movement jarred the catwalk and shook Frank's tenuous grasp. "Callie - " he choked.

Callie looked at the gun. She knew she couldn't shoot a man in the back, and her aim wasn't true enough for this dark, enclosed space. She also knew that if she ran after Kovran, Frank would fall. Easing the hammer back into place she tossed the gun aside and knelt on the catwalk, grabbing Frank's wrist with one hand and his forearm with the other.

"I've got you." she said, breathing hard. "Can you pull yourself up?"

Frank shook his head. "I'll pull you over."

"Don't worry. I'm wearing my harness. How did you think I made that entrance?"

Frank set his teeth. "Divine intervention."

With Callie's help, Frank managed to heft himself back onto the catwalk.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

Frank nodded, trying to regain his breath, watching Kovran's retreating back with mounting frustration. He scrambled to his knees and threw himself into a low, driving tackle. Kovran hit the catwalk with a force that made it rattle, only steps from the ladder. Frank pushed himself up to grab him around the waist, but there was something familiar about that position...he moved his head slightly as Kovran kicked out, enough to diminish the violent blow, but not quite enough to escape it. An orange starburst exploded behind his eyes, and he went limp. Kovran slipped free and down the ladder.

"Frank!" cried Callie, hurrying toward him as best she could in the confined space. Frank dragged himself dizzily into sitting position and reached for the ladder.

"Callie. He can't get away."

Callie clung firmly to his arm, listening to a faint sound over the thundering music, and smiled. "Sounds like he's not. Come on. Let's go see."

000

Joe was about halfway up the ladder when a pair of feet descended suddenly before his eyes. They were beautifully shod in black silver-toed boots.

Without pausing to think, he grabbed onto them and pulled. He and the owner of the feet tumbled down the ladder, crashing into the Prop Table so that one side collapsed and props rained down on them. Somewhere in the background, voices were singing a religious choir.

Joe's head was reeling from the fall, and he was on the bottom, with his captive and a variety of props on top, but he held on with all his might. The figure grabbed a pitcher from the collection of props and aimed it at Joe's head. Joe managed to turn aside, but caught a stinging blow on the shoulder. He answered with an uppercut to the jaw, somewhat hampered by the fallen table. The other guy was groggy, but not out. He managed a vicious blow to Joe's midsection.

Joe's air left him in a whoosh of pain, and he almost lost his hold. All right, he thought, enough fun and games. He groped among the props with his free hand. With his other, he maintained a death grip on the guy's collar.

Hope this tuxedo's not a rental, pal, he thought grimly as his searching hand found some sort of handle and closed around it. He lifted experimentally, felt a satisfying degree of weight, and swung. It made contact with a hollow thwack, and the tuxedo slumped against him.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" Joe looked up into the astonished, irate face of the Assistant Stage Manager. He pushed the tuxedo guy off of him and stood up.

"Just looking for my props. Pretty flimsy table, huh?" Just then Frank and Callie made it down the ladder. Joe turned his prisoner gingerly onto his back. "Kovran?" he asked.

Frank nodded.

The Assistant Stage Manager went pale. "Oh! Mr. Kovran! What have you done! I - I'm calling the police!"

"No need." They all looked up, blinking, as applause marked the end of Act IV and the lights came on. A plain clothesman flanked by two uniformed officers stood at the backstage entrance, displaying a badge.

"But - how - " Frank looked past the officers and broke into a slow grin. "Gabby!"

Gabby moved forward, looking from one to the other anxiously. "Are you kids all right? Oh, no, not again!" Frank met her look uncomprehendingly.

"You're bleeding," Callie explained helpfully.

He put his hand to his forehead. Sure enough, it came away red.

The Assistant Stage Manager stared at the policemen. "I don't understand." he said in bewilderment.

"Lt. Richards," answered the plain clothesman briskly. He looked down at Kovran, who had begun to stir. "This the one ma'am?"

Gabby nodded. "Yes, lieutenant. That's him."

One of the uniformed officers went forward and cuffed Kovran's hands behind him, pulling him to his feet. "Sergei Kovran, you are under arrest for conspiracy of grand theft. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right - "

Kovran, now fully conscious, was looking around at them, smiling faintly. "I am so sorry to disappoint you," he said quietly. "But I am afraid I must. You can not arrest me. You see, I have diplomatic immunity."

Joe stared, doubling his fists. "_No_," he said angrily.

Frank sat down on one of the prop barrels. "Yes," he said with a groan.

Joe stared at Kovran, his big fists working. "So, what happens now?"

"He walks." said Frank bitterly.

Gabby looked from one to the other disbelievingly. "But - that's impossible!"

Lt. Richards shook his head. "No, ma'am. I'm sorry, but if he's with the embassy, it's true. Kelly, undo the cuffs."

Officer Kelly reluctantly fumbled for the keys and began to unlock the handcuffs. Joe, Frank and Callie looked on miserably, while Kovran sneered with triumph.

"Well, Sergei Grigorovitch. As I always thought you'd look most natural." A musical voice made them turn. Galina Kareechniva stood smiling a cool, bitter smile, totally unlike the one she'd bestowed on Joe.

"Galina Illyovna. So sorry to disappoint you, but they are currently releasing me. Perhaps I will not sue for false arrest. This is a wonderful country, is it not?" He delicately tugged his sleeves back into place.

Galina's smile faded and she narrowed her eyes at Lt. Richards, her expression searching. "Releasing?" she said sharply. "And his crime is, please?"

Lt. Richards looked acutely unhappy. "Conspiring to steal the _Romanov Rose_."

Galina's face furrowed. "Please to understand. Why he is free then?"

"Diplomatic immunity," mumbled Frank, accepting Gabby's handkerchief and pressing it against the cut that had reopened on his forehead.

Galina's frown deepened. "But the _Romanov Rose_ - she is Russian, yes?" They all looked at her. She gestured impatiently. "Is crime against Russia, yes? He has not immunity in Russia, no?" She made a grand flourish. "As Russian citizen, I insist you arrest for crime against Russian people. You arrest and hold for -for - " she struggled for the word.

"Extradition," Frank supplied breathlessly.

She beamed her dazzling smile at him. "Yes. For this." She kissed her fingertips. "Beautiful and smart. These American boys. You send Sergei to Russia. He has many friends there be please for opportunity to discuss his other crimes. Friends who no forget." Sergei went pale. The lights flashed, and she turned. "Intermission over. I must do last scene - death in prison." She smiled slyly at Kovran. "You watch," she suggested sweetly. "Is good reference, yes?"

Kovran leapt at her, but Joe was more than ready. He stepped in with a neat uppercut to the jaw. "That's for my brother," he said cheerfully, following it with a pile driver jab to the breadbasket. "And _that's_ for my vacation."

Kovran folded with an audible "Oof."

Joe stood smiling down at him, rubbing his fist.

"Nice work." said Gabby admiringly, as Officer Kelly reapplied the cuffs. "I've been wanting to do that myself for a long time."

"Thanks, but the pleasure was all mine." They could hear the sounds of the audience reseating. "Say, what made you decide to bring the police?"

"Oh, I don't know." Gabby smiled over at Frank. "That guy, I guess. Made me want to do the right thing."

"Yeah." Joe grinned, enjoying Frank's embarrassment. "He has that effect on people. Even me, sometimes."

Callie rolled her eyes. "The Hardy brothers. Irresistible to women of all ages, all nationalities. Come on, champ. Let's see if we can find you an icepack."

Lt. Richards gestured them ahead of him through the offstage door just as the lights went down and the music came up for the last act. A third uniformed officer was waiting there with Jerry in handcuffs. He looked desolate, but his face lit when he saw Gabby.

"Gabby!" he said in relief. "You're all right!"

"I'm sorry, Jerry." said Gabby steadily. "I brought the police."

Jerry smiled crookedly. "Figures. Sorry I got you messed up in this, babe." He took in Callie and Frank and Joe. "Thank heaven you kids are all right anyway."

"Oh, that's rich!" said Joe indignantly. "After you left us at Alcatraz to be killed!"

Jerry's eyes widened. "To be killed!" he repeated in astonishment. "I led you there to keep you alive!" He looked at Frank. "I went to Gabby's to give you the second injection. I knew she'd never do it, and I knew there'd be trouble if you came round. I saw you were gone, and I was kind of relieved. But then I saw you at the theater and I knew that if Kovran saw you around he wouldn't take any chances this time. He'd kill you. So I thought - if I could just keep you out of sight for a while - "

Joe gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding! We saw this guy come to get us!"

Jerry turned to stare at Kovran. "You followed me?" he asked stupidly. Kovran returned his gaze coldly. "Gabby, I swear - "

"I know, Jer," she shrugged slightly. "Suckers, both of us."

Frank looked from Lt. Richards to Gabby. "What happens to Gabby - I mean, Ms. Townsend - now? She stopped the theft. Maybe even an international incident."

"And she only got involved to help me." Jerry blurted. "I have a record...I never came clean about it with the Opera House. Kovran found out somehow and was using it to blackmail me."

Lt. Richards looked serious. "It's not for me to decide."

"She did everything she could to keep me alive." Frank insisted. "I'll be happy to give a statement - "

"I'll want statements from _all_ of you," Richards interrupted. "I'm taking you down to the station."

"What I'd like to know," said Joe as they followed Richards down the hall to the labyrinth of dressing room corridors, "is how Kovran knew Frank was here. What made him come backstage to begin with?"

"Oh," Frank made a face, looking for a dry spot on his handkerchief and reapplying it. "I think I figured that out." He looked at Kovran. "It was the surveillance cameras, wasn't it? That's what you and Carstairs were talking about in that room. You were watching the tourists at the exhibit and suddenly there I was, alive and on the air." Kovran didn't deign to reply, so Frank continued. "You knew I was hanging around the Opera House and you probably figured out why, and since you have free run of the place, it wasn't so tough to track me down. Then you just - " he stopped dead. "Oh, no! Callie! The gun! We left it in the catwalks!"

"The _gun_!" Richards repeated. "_What_ gun?"

"The gun this guy was going to shoot me with." Frank explained. "We shouldn't leave it just lying around."

"Shouldn't - it's _backstage_?" Richards was aghast.

"I'll get it," Frank volunteered.

Joe stopped his brother with a hand on his arm. "No, you look kind of rocky. I'll get it. Where is it?"

"The catwalks. Should be near the top of the ladder you found Kovran on, but - " Joe was already halfway to the stairs. It seemed as though he was gone for a very long time. When he returned, he had the gun mounted on his sword by the trigger guard and an expression of suppressed excitement that made Frank eye him quizzically. Joe met his look with a grin, eyes dancing.

"Thank you," said Lt. Richards, a little impatiently. "Officer Hoblock, take the weapon, please." Officer Hoblock obediently relieved Joe of the gun.

"Show's over," said Joe conversationally. "They're encoring Galina again and again."

Lt. Richards frowned at him. "We'll go now, if you don't mind. This promises to be a very long night."

Joe shrugged. "Sure." then seemed to remember something. "Oh - Lieutenant - "

Lt. Richards turned and fixed him with a steely eye, his face a mask of rising irritation. "Well?"

"You don't want to forget this." He tossed something lightly underhand.

Lt. Richards snatched it out of the air. It slithered in his grasp and he stared at it, his face suddenly gone white.

In his hand was a small, black velvet bag. It had a drawstring neck that was partly opened, spilling its contents. Dangling half in and half out of the neck of the bag and glimmering richly under the fluorescent lights was an immense ruby in a petal-like setting.

The _Romanov Rose_.

_TBC_


	15. Chapter 15

_Just the Epilogue after this._

**Chapter XV**

They related their story to Lt. Richards at the downtown precinct, trying to gloss over some of the more objectionable parts. He listened in varying degrees of astonishment, disapproval, and wrath, and looked at them very sternly at the end.

"You should have come to the police immediately. I don't care who your father is. You never should have tried to handle this on your own."

"They would have killed Frank," Joe pointed out.

Lt. Richards glanced through some paperwork a sergeant had recently dropped on his desk and tossed it across the surface to them. "Kovran certainly planned to do that anyway. Jerry Stryker, in hopes of impressing the DA, turned over the second hypo. Of course, he didn't know what was in it. Lab analysis shows a hefty dose of potassium chloride."

Frank gulped. "You mean-"

Lt. Richards nodded. "That's right. By the morning of the Gala you would have been dead. Townsend would have had a corpse in her apartment, Stryker would have been the one who pushed the plunger. Kovran could see they were getting shaky, and knew that they would be sure to panic and agree to go through with the theft in return for his help escaping the country. Of course, they wouldn't actually go anywhere." He looked at Frank, who was suddenly very pale. "By the way, we found a bomb wired to Jerry Stryker's ignition. Thanks for the tip-off."

"Sure," said Frank faintly.

"Clever guy. It fits with Kareechniva's claims that he was once an undercover KGB. Russia should be happy to have him, now that they have something to hold him on. But you can see what you were actually up against - nothing for a bunch of teenagers to take on. I feel pretty sure this isn't the way your father would have wanted you to handle things."

Frank and Joe exchanged uneasy glances. They were pretty sure, too.

"Well, we did save the necklace," Joe pointed out stubbornly. "And you big pros would have left it to be tossed around or even thrown out backstage."

Frank kicked him discreetly.

Richards' face worked strangely. "There could be some truth to that," he said at last. "Though I like to think a search would have turned it up. Either way, I guess you kids are big news."

Frank cleared his throat. "Actually...we were kind of wondering...if you could keep our names out of it."

Responsibility struggled with relief on Richards' face. "I suppose...if that's what you want..."

"We do," said Frank devoutly.

Both Callie and Joe looked so eager that Richards' face relaxed.

"Okay. One condition."

"Anything."

"You kids let Officer Petty escort you to the Emergency Room and get checked out. I need to know you're A-OK or at the very least I'll have to call your parents."

"No problem," said Joe hastily.

Richards excused himself to alert Officer Petty to her new responsibility.

Frank turned to Joe. "How _did_ you find the necklace?"

Joe grinned. "It was just a fluke. When I went back for the gun, I stopped to help right the Prop Table. I figured it would only take a second, and it was the least I could do. The jewel casket was smashed - I think it must be what I grabbed to brain Kovran - and something was poking out of the lid. It turned out to be the necklace, so I palmed it. There must have been a compartment in the lid Jerry used to conceal it."

Callie shuddered. "When I think of that priceless treasure just lying there, among all that junk..."

Frank nodded solemnly. "I think we've been more lucky than smart this time."

Joe chuckled. "Maybe. But did you catch Richards' face? It was a heck of a finale, wasn't it?"

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

000

The Emergency Room gave Callie and Joe a clean bill of health and released them into Officer Petty's custody. When the doctor heard about Frank's run in with the hypodermic, however, he looked grave and requested that he spend the night for observation.

Frank was exasperated. "I've been in San Francisco for five nights with two different hotel rooms, and I've spent exactly one night in one of them. Is this really necessary?"

"If we don't want Lt. Richards to spill the whole thing to Dad, it is," said Joe bluntly. "Besides, Frank, it's really a good idea." He smiled winningly "Do it for me."

"Or me," added Callie "After all, I saved your life. In some cultures that means I'm responsible for it."

Frank smiled. "I don't think I've had a chance to thank you for that."

Callie twinkled demurely. "I'll see if I can think of some way for you to make it up to me. Get some rest, Frank. We'll see you in the morning."

"All right, but only if you promise to bring my clothes. No way am I checking out of here in broad daylight in this soldier suit!"

But it was noon before Callie actually showed up at the hospital, and she was alone. She studied Frank smilingly. Except for the white square of bandage on his forehead, he looked much more like himself.

"Sorry I'm late. We got in so late last night I overslept. You too, from the look of you."

Frank nodded. "Like the dead. If you'll pardon the expression. Where's Joe?"

"I'm not sure. He was up before I was, if you can believe it, and left a note saying he'd meet me here at about this time."

They had reached the curb by this time, and Frank stopped dead in his tracks."Callie - " he gasped.

Parked at the curb was a large, dark blue Lincoln, with a license plate that read AIDA. Before they could react, the tinted rear window lowered with a soft whirring sound, and Joe Hardy leaned out, grinning at them.

"Hi! You guys gonna get in, or what?"

Frank and Callie climbed rather hesitantly into the back seat with him.

"At least it's not TOSCA," said Frank wryly. "What gives?"

"Mr. Carstairs is faint with gratitude to us. He's knocking himself out trying to thank us. He insisted we borrow it, with the driver, for the duration of our stay."

"Which shouldn't be too long," Frank pointed out ruefully. "We have just about enough time to go back to the hotel, pack, eat, and make arrangements to catch our flight tonight. Some vacation."

Joe grinned, but he only said, "So, how'd the head exam go? They find anything in there?"

"Very funny. Perfectly normal, except the doctor said I'd be a good candidate for phrenology." And, in answer to Joe's puzzled look, "Reading peoples' characters by the lumps on their heads. Why is he stopping? This sure isn't our hotel."

Joe's grin broadened as the driver came around to open their door. "Sure it is. Ladies first."

Callie stepped out wonderingly and looked up at the beautiful facade of the Westin St. Francis Hotel. "But- there must be some mistake. Even if we could stay, we couldn't stay _here_!"

But Frank was watching his brother shrewdly. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What have you been up to?"

Joe looked pleased with himself. "I told you. Mr. Carstairs wanted to do something for us. I told him what had happened to our vacation and he insisted on changing our tickets for new ones three days later - first class, of course - and putting us up here. Presidential Suite. All meals, everything. Plus the car. Plus, Galina Kareechniva is throwing a party in our honor tonight. Don't worry - I called Mom and Dad and they said it's okay and they'd pass the word to your parents, Callie. We'll still be back before school starts."

"You've been busy." Frank looked up at the magnificent hotel wistfully. "And it sounds great, Joe, really, but you're forgetting. We have that courier ticket. We have to deliver a package. Tonight."

Joe shook his head sadly. "Frank, Frank. You have so little faith in me. Of course I didn't forget. The honor of the Hardys is at stake. Luckily, I happen to know a very responsible person just dying to go to New York and greatly deserving of a reward, so - "

Callie was listening in dawning understanding. "Alissa!" she exclaimed jubilantly.

Joe nodded, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "What's more, both Carstairs and Kareechniva are giving her references at the Met, and Carstairs arranged a place for her to stay for the first month. Looks like Alissa's on her way at last."

Callie smiled mischievously. "That's great, Joe, you've really thought of everything...except for one! You've left yourself without a date! Unless you go with Suzy, and I think she's a little young for you."

"True." Joe looked sorrowful. "But I have debts to pay, and I am an honorable man. Debts incurred, not on my own behalf, but while snatching my brother from the jaws of death…" Frank groaned and rolled his eyes. Joe continued unperturbedly. "...but still not begrudged. Debts...ah, there's my loan officer now." They followed his gaze to a small, trim blonde girl in a mini skirt, heading towards them.

Frank grinned. "Dru," he said wonderingly. "Nice work, Joe. I'm impressed."

Dru was staring as she approached. "Joe Hardy! You don't mean to say we're eating here!"

Joe nodded. "Dru Larkin, Callie Shaw. You've met Frank. Wait till you see what we're doing tonight. I pay my debts in style."

Dru wrinkled her nose. "Well, that's great and all, Joe, but by this time I just want to hear the story!"

Frank put his arm around Callie and led them toward the hotel. "Better settle for lunch, Dru," he advised "The story you'll never believe!"

_TBC_


	16. Chapter 16

_That's all, folks._

**Epilogue**

"Well, I promised you a party. Did I deliver or what?"

Dru gazed from the crowd of dignitaries in black tie and glittering gowns back to Joe, her eyes huge. "Debt paid in full. Mercy, Joe, I've never been to a party like this in my life. It's - it's a little overwhelming! Wait until I tell the kids at school!"

"Not bad." agreed Joe, glancing around with a cocky grin. "Can I get you anything from the buffet table? You gotta say this for Galina. She really knows how to put on a spread."

"I'd love another soda. And some more caviar with lemon."

Joe made a face. "Ugh. Fish eggs. But whatever you say. Be right back."

Frank was at the buffet table as well, filling a plate for Callie.

Joe watched him scoop out some kind of shrimp. "Well, I guess all's well that ends well, huh?"

"That's one way to look at it." They both turned around in surprise, and looked directly into the pale grey eyes of the Gray Man. "But personally, I can't help but feel it would have gone much more smoothly if you'd taken my advice. Nice to see you're still breathing, Frank."

"No thanks to you," put in Joe, flushing hotly at the memory. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm everywhere, boys. Remember that." He winked at them, spreading some caviar onto a cracker. "And by the way - nice work."

Joe scowled after him as he seemed to disappear into the tuxedo-clad crowd. "That guy gets my goat. Wow. Check out that redhead."

Frank followed Joe's gaze to a shapely figure in a white sequined mini-dress, her red hair twisted onto her head. "Better not let Dru catch you staring at her. Whoops! Here she comes. I guess you just can't fight that Joe Hardy magnetism."

Sure enough, the redhead was making a beeline for Joe, moving with languorous grace. "You know, there's something familiar..."

"Hi, Joe," the redhead smiled.

"Uh - hi." Frank was right. There was something familiar about her. "Have we met?"

Her eyes danced. "Joe. I'm hurt. Of course we have. Y'know - like - we just spent, like - the most exciting time together!"

Joe choked. "You - _**Suzy?**_"

Suzy grinned. "I knew you couldn't forget me so fast."

"But you're not - you _can't_ be fifteen."

"Nope. But being able to look that way comes in handy in my job."

"Your job? What do you do?"

"Oh, you must know. I just saw you talking to my boss. Excuse me. I see my husband over there." She winked, just as the Gray Man had done, and moved away.

Joe and Frank stared after her, open mouthed.

"Frank," said Joe after a minute. "Do you think - I mean, if Suzy works for the Gray Man, does that mean that all this time he was keeping an eye on us? Maybe even using us to flush out Kovran?"

Frank looked rueful. "Chances are."

"Man, that guy makes me mad."

"Don't worry about it, Joe." Frank put his free arm around Joe's shoulders and led him away from the buffet table. "We'll probably get a chance to get even. In the meantime, we've halted a potential international incident, we've got a great party, great music, all we can eat, and a couple of gorgeous blondes waiting for us. How does that make you feel?"

Joe looked across the room to where Callie and Dru were waiting and grinned.

"Just like James Bond, bro." He patted Frank lightly on the back. "Just like James Bond."

_The End_


End file.
